TAGS: husband, nanami x fem!reader, established relation, shibuya did NOT happen !!
CW: fluff, not proofread
SONG4U: when you say nothing at all by ronan keating
nanami closes his eyes and breathes in the early morning air at his cabin, like the sentimental man he is. he turns on the record player he inherited from his grandfather. actually, every inch of his wooden cabin, away from the noisy streets of the city, was passed down to him by his grandfather.
he was 32 at the time, still a bachelor, and had long believed that marriage was something beyond his reach. On his grandfather's deathbed, he had passed the wooden cabin to nanami. he hoped that he'd keep it as long as he wanted it and perhaps, if the time came, build his own family.
so here he is, 34, living at the wooden cabin. but in addition to this inherited heirloom, he had another companion.
you, his wife. the meeting was almost 2 years ago, a chance encounter, both single in their 30s. both longing for love that did not involve having to date younger people and exhaust themselves with trying to understand their humor. somehow, fate was sick of waiting so it brought you two together.
besides the woody smell nanami inhaled almost every day, it always also that cucumber melony scent you wore routinely. it stuck everywhere – the kitchen, the garden, the sheets, his clothes. he wouldn't complain at all though.
when he opens his eyes, he sees you tending to the succulents you had added when you moved in. he smiles and calls out to you, "hun?" you respond immediately, taking your gaze away from the succulents as you approach him. you were still in your cotton nightgown as you got closer to him.
nanami's hands were gentle, turning your whole body and sitting you down beside him. "what's the matter?" you ask as the man presses his forehead and nose to your back.
"are you hungry?" you added and he remains silent.
little by little his arms wrap around your waist and its a small signal for you to stay. you huff out a small laugh, "i'm not going anywhere."
"mhm, stay with me." he replies, which earns him a small peck on the cheek.
Swirling the sweet wine in hand, you couldn’t help but compliment the chef’s recommendation. “The chef was right honey, the wine is sweet but really strong.” You hum in delight, bringing the wine glass to your plump lips. Kento, as protective as you as usual smiles softly seeing you enjoy yourself.
“Just a glass for tonight sweetheart, I’ll purchase the bottle for us to bring home.” You greedily gulp it down, a slight tingle glides down your throat. “Thank you hubby, you take such good care of me.” You place your delicate hand on your chest, touched at his kindness even after all these years. “I have the privilege to take care of you, I’m going to do it right.” He smiles across from you reaching his palm out to caress yours.
You place your palm in his, enjoying the sensation of his thumbs rubbing against your skin. “I can’t wait to try their pasta, everyone’s been obsessed with this place for months! I’m glad we were able to make a reservation for tonight!” You wiggle in your seat, excited to try the most popular item on the menu.
A waiter approaches your table with simmering hot food on it. You couldn’t help but give tiny claps at seeing the meal. Just from the looks and smell alone you can tell why this was so popular. “Here you are sir, the roasted potatoes and beef wellington and the cajun pasta for the lady.” The prim and proper waiter places the food in front of you. You could almost immediately dive in, but remembering your manners you just smile politely at the man. “I’ll purchase two bottles of this wine from the chef’s recommendation, my wife has enjoyed it immensely.” You could feel the blush span across your neck and face from his actions.
“Of course sir, please, enjoy your dinner.” The waiter saunters off and you look at the pasta in front of you and your husband, plan in motion. There’s a TikTok challenge you have been dying to try on your husband and this seems like the perfect opportunity to try, you just hope you can pull it off and not laugh prematurely like you usually do.
Unwrapping the silverware from its cloth you swirl the fork into the creamy pasta. “I’m so excited~” You sing into your first bite knowing Kento would be anticipating a reaction out of you, to know if he should get another order for lunch tmw or make this restaurant another regular to surprise you with.
Chewing softly you taste the warm creaminess of the pasta sauce, its rich flavor flooding your tastebuds with glee. But you have to play the part perfectly so steeling your features you mutter, “The fuck?”
Brows furrowed, you chew the pasta as if it’s the worst thing to even call edible. “What’s wrong honey? Are there remnants of a shell?” You hear your husband concerned voice from across from you but you keep your head down and chew slowly.
“The fuck is this?”
You hear a distant grunt from across from you and feel your heart start to race in your chest. “I’ll call the waiter over immediately” Kento starts to rise from his seat before you can say, “Don’t do that the fuck?”
You look up and nearly lose it at seeing your husband look so concerned. “Why wouldn’t I do that, sweetheart, surely something is wrong.”
Taking another bite you mutter, “Sit down, nothings wrong the fuck?” Kento sharp eyes just stare at yours for a moment before announcing, “I’m calling the chef at once.”
Your eyes widen in actual shock seeing him tuck in his chair and walk towards the kitchen. “Why? The fuck?” The man simply rushes over briskly to the kitchen and you see the panic looks on the waiters faces and can only fear what he’s telling them.
You cross your legs hoping that’ll calm your nerves down seeing your husband come back with the head chef taking a seat before declaring, “You have poisoned my wife’s food. She’s having cognitive dissonance that doesn’t happen when drinking light wine. I will have this place shut down from your insolence.” You see the cold glare your husband gives the chef and you cling to your fork, leg bouncing underneath the table. “There must be some misunderstanding sir, I perform to my highest ability to make sure no one gets hurt in my cooking. I prep my fish every morning at five am to make sure I give my highest performance.” The chef brows furrow and looks at you.
“Obviously your best isn’t good enough, is it chef?” Kento cold line sends chills down your spine and you know this has gone too far but you couldn’t help but deliver the final blow . “The fuck is wrong with you man? You’re trying to kill me??” You sass at the chef and he shakes his head terrified. “O-of course not madam!” He denys and you feel the corners of your mouth twitch out of amusement and nervousness.
Kento glares at you from across the table before demanding, “I would like to speak with my wife. Alone.” The chef didn’t need to be told twice before scurrying away. “What was that?” His deep voice questioned you.
“What was what? The fuck.”
He crosses his hands in front of him staring at you for a moment.
Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck, you fucked up.
You really fucked up.
“You want to come clean or do I have to say it?” He narrows his eyes at you.
You’re left in a staring contest, seeing who will break first but the icy glare of your husband is all knowing. You try your best to hold onto your poker face but honestly, you never had one.
Puffing air out of your cheeks you twiddle with the pasta on your plate. “It was a prank…” You mumble sheepishly looking up at him.
“What social media app?”
You sigh, resigning your fate with a quiet, “Tiktok…” You couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty but Kento saw the mirth in your eyes and the apples of your cheeks rising.
That’s how you find yourself over your husband’s lap in the manger office, panties in his coat pocket. You cried as a crisp hand falls sharply on your doughy ass. “I-I’m sorry Ken!” You grip on his ankle, hoping for some sort of resistance. “Don’t apologize to me you spoiled brat, apologize to the man whose career almost got tarnished from you!” He points out delivering a punishing spank. “From you being insensitive and immature.” His callous hand lands sharply on the underside of your bottom. Oh right.
You look up at the chef who arms are crossed in front of his chest. “Im so sorry chef!” You whimper.
Smack!
“For?” Kento growls at you.
“For being a brat! I almost got you fired!”
The chef merely grunts, pissed at this entire situation. “I have a girl at home who has the same behavior as yours. I would discipline her like this myself.” He doesn’t even talk to you, only to your husband.
“Yes, well my wife is much better behaved then this but it does, indeed come about like now.” He rains a dozen of slaps on your rear, all more painful than the last. You wail in agony but don’t move knowing it would make it worse. But you had to agree
This was so worth it.
⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧ ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧ ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧ ˚୨✧
A/N: This shouldn’t have been so funny lmao. Reader has no chill that’s why her ass got tore up
“This is stupid. I’m getting dirt under my finger nails.”
Giggling, you bumped his shoulder with yours as you both dug into the dirt. “Kento, live a little.”
Haibara as busy sealing the container. “Good to go!”
You looked up and took the box from him with both hands. “Awesome! And you got something from Gojo and Geto, right?”
Haibara gave a thumbs up. “You bet I did! Now, do they know about it?” He shrugged playfully, feigning innocence. “Remains to be seen.”
Nanami’s eyes widened slightly. “You stole from Gojo and Geto?”
“Borrowed! They’ll get it back in ten years!”
Joining you and Nanami, Haibara fell to his knees and started digging into the dirt. The location was deliberate. Each of you could see it from your doom rooms, nestled under a tall, proud oak tree.
“I’m done. This is lame,” Nanami said as he started wiping his hands on his pants, yet he made no motion to stand.
With a warm smile, you placed the box in the hole. “I think we made good progress. This is deep enough.”
“Are you even going to remember what you put in there?” Nanami asked while picking dirt from under his nails.
“No, that’s the point.”
Haibara’s journal. Utahime’s hairbow. Meimei’s blank (voided) check. A lens from a pair of Gojo’s broken glasses. Geto’s hairbrush. Shoko’s empty blue lighter. A Polaroid of you kissing Nanami’s cheek while he looked absolutely bewildered.
“Geto is going to look for that brush instantly,” you commented.
“And we’ll just say ‘oh maybe you forgot it on your last long mission’ and get away with it!”
Nanami deadpanned. “You really think that will work?”
His audience of two both gave him a cheeky thumbs up. He sighed, defeated.
“Ten years from now. We’ll come back here and dig it up. Our time capsule,” you said with wonder in your tone as you started packing dirt around the container. “We’ll get together and laugh over the silly things.”
Haibara cheesed a grin. “Can’t wait to see you guys actually show affection! Who knows, maybe you guys will be married by then.”
Nanami groaned, a blush across his cheeks. He started helping bury the time capsule. “Stop looking into things that aren’t even there!”
Despite it all, you laughed. Packing the dirt in firmly, you grabbed a nearby twig and poked it into the center. “Promise me, boys. Ten years from now. 2016.” You stood up, the crunch of leaves under your shoes a nostalgic sound. “We meet up here, dig up our memories with our classmates, and look back fondly on our accomplishments.”
But that time never came. There was a giant hole in Japan where Shibuya used to stand. More and more disappeared as the hours ticked by. Two years overdue, you dug up the box.
The air around the time capsule was cold, stagnant, and smelled dry. The box was weathered in your hands, but looks like moisture stayed out.
Meimei’s blank check was slightly yellowed, Utahime’s bow felt a little stiff, Gojo’s glasses lens had a hairline crack, Geto’s brush hadn’t changed, Shoko’s lighter was also cracked, the color in your Polaroid had washed out a bit, and then… Haibara’s journal. It looked like it had some wrinkles from a damp environment. Did it look like that when you buried it?
Cracking open the cover, the first page had another photo. A group photo of the whole class, each student present in Jujutsu High at that time. Your Polaroid camera in your lap, head on Nanami’s shoulder. He was smiling. It was moments after that photo was taken that you took your candid Polaroid that was sitting in the box.
Tears leaked from your eyes, dotting the journal paper. Lifting the image to look at it closer, underneath it was a handwritten note scrawled in Haibara’s childlike handwriting:
Can’t wait to look back at these memories with my best friends!
Haibara was gone first. Then Geto. Nanami is now gone, and Gojo is sealed. Meimei is missing, Utahime is in Kyoto, and you… still here, clinging to the what-ifs and what could have been.
(afab!reader, nerdkento kinda?, HEAVILY suggestive content, mentions of sex obvs, reader is feral for nanami (real), nanami kinda ooc??idk, reader calls kento ‘baby’😛)
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my first ever drabble on here! hehe. please be kind, i havent officially written any ‘x reader’ stuff since my diabolik lovers wattpad days about a decade ago😭
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you were lying on kento nanami’s naked chest after a third round of the most delicious sex. he leans against the headboard, his hand gently grazing your hip as he talks.
you were listening… at first of course, but somewhere along the way, your thighs started to press together. your eyes fixated on his mouth, his eyes and nose while he passionately spoke about his interests. god he was so fucking hot.
‘…therefore that’s why i think pluto should be named as a main planet again i mean..’
you couldn’t take it anymore. you had to act. ‘mhm.. poor polo.. such a sad thing to happen..’ you lean in, lips grazing his jaw, descending down his neck.
‘…pluto.’ he states matter of factly
‘yeah, that.’ your lips continue to press against his neck, slowly reaching his sweet spot you know draws out the most hottest of sounds.
he scoffs lightly while grinning, ‘don’t tell me you’re still horny?’
your thighs press again and you stop your kisses briefly, lifting your gaze to look at him. god you almost looked high. you were so gone on the drug that is kento nanami. ‘can you blame me, baby? you’re just so sexy..’
he blushes slightly, a little taken aback by the praise. you smirk and continue kissing his neck again. ‘god, please keep talking.’ you say between kisses.
‘w-what about?..’ he clears his throat
‘anything. god anything, please, and don’t stop whatever you do’
he hesitates but continues to speak, ‘well..’
your eyes almost roll back. were you ovulating? probably. but then again, it is nanami and you always feel you’re ovulating when he’s around.
you trail lower and grin. his v line coming into view, driving you crazy. you shift yourself between his bent legs, hands slowly descending down his stomach as you kiss him through his boxers. he groans softly, gently bucking his hips.
pulling his boxers down, allowing him to spring free, half hard. your eyes brighten and you lick your lips. your head goes under the covers.
nanami arches his back and threads his fingers in your hair. shit, you just love how sensitive and responsive he is to your touch as you begin to lick up his shaft.
Pairing: Kento Nanami x Plus-Size Female Reader
Word Count: ~8,000
Content Warnings: Angst, emotional confrontation, arguments/conflict, mentions of breakup and heartbreak, mature emotional themes, hurt/comfort, discussions of emotional neglect, crying, second chances, unresolved feelings
Summary: Six months after a painful breakup, you unexpectedly run into Kento at a coffee shop. What starts as an awkward encounter spirals into an emotionally charged conversation filled with unresolved feelings, anger, and the complicated weight of what you lost. As you both confront the real reasons behind the breakup—his inability to show up emotionally and your struggle to be heard—something shifts. Maybe it's anger, maybe it's honesty, or maybe it's just the fact that neither of you has stopped caring. Through tears and difficult truths, you both begin to consider what starting over might actually look like, not as a return to what was broken, but as something entirely new.
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The coffee shop smells like burnt espresso and cinnamon, a combination that should be comforting but instead makes your stomach turn. You're standing in line, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through emails you've already read three times. It's a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of grey, unremarkable day that Tokyo does so well in late autumn—cool enough for a coat, warm enough that you're sweating slightly in the crowded café.
You don't see him at first.
It's the voice that catches you. Low, measured, polite in that way that always made your chest ache because it was so distinctly him. "Just a black coffee, please. Large."
Your fingers freeze on your phone screen. You know that voice. You know it in the way you know your own heartbeat, in the way you know the exact number of steps from your apartment door to the elevator. Six months hasn't been long enough to forget it, though God knows you've tried.
Slowly, against every instinct screaming at you to turn around and leave, you look up.
Kento Nanami stands at the counter, wallet in hand, looking exactly as he always did—immaculate tan suit, hair perfectly styled, that perpetual expression of composed exhaustion that made him look older than his years. He's tall, so tall that you'd always feel dwarfed beside him, your head barely reaching his shoulder even when you wear heels. Now, in your flat boots, you feel even smaller.
He hasn't seen you yet. You could leave. You should leave.
But your feet won't move, and then the barista is calling out, "Next in line, please!" and Kento is stepping aside, and his eyes—those sharp, honey-brown eyes that used to soften when they landed on you—find yours across the small space.
The world doesn't stop. That's the thing about running into your ex-boyfriend in a coffee shop six months after the worst breakup of your life—the world keeps spinning, people keep ordering their lattes, the espresso machine keeps hissing, and you have to keep breathing even though your lungs have suddenly forgotten how.
"Hi," you say, because what else is there to say?
Kento's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or pain. It's gone too quickly for you to name it.
"Hello," he replies, and even that single word is careful, controlled.
The barista clears her throat pointedly, and you realize you're still holding up the line. Heat floods your cheeks—your full cheeks that you've spent years being self-conscious about, which Kento used to cup in his hands and call beautiful in those rare moments when he let his guard down.
"Sorry," you mutter, stepping forward. Your voice sounds strange, too high. "Can I get a vanilla latte, please? Medium."
You pay without really seeing the transaction, your hands moving on autopilot while your entire awareness is focused on the man standing three feet away, pretending to check his phone. You know he's pretending because Kento never checks his phone in public unless it's work-related, and it's 3 PM on a Tuesday—he should still be at the office.
Unless things have changed. Unless he's changed.
Unless you never really knew him at all.
The thought sits bitter on your tongue as you step aside to wait for your drink. Kento is still there, clearly waiting for his coffee, and the silence between you is so thick you could choke on it.
"How have you been?" he asks finally, and you almost laugh because the question is so absurd, so painfully inadequate for the weight of everything unsaid between you.
"Fine," you lie, because the truth—that you've spent six months trying to excavate him from your chest, that you still sleep on one side of the bed, and that you deleted his number but still know it by heart—is too much for a chance encounter in a coffee shop.
He nods, as if he expected that answer. As if he knows it's a lie but is too polite to call you on it.
"You?" you ask, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.
"Busy," he says. "Work has been demanding."
Of course it has. Work was always demanding. Work was always the reason he came home late, the reason he was too tired to talk, the reason he couldn't make it to your friend's birthday party or your company dinner or that weekend trip you'd planned for months. Work was the third person in your relationship, and it always won.
"Black coffee for Nanami!"
He moves to collect his drink, and you think maybe that's it. Maybe you'll exchange awkward goodbyes and go back to your separate lives, back to pretending the other doesn't exist.
But then he turns back to you, coffee in hand, and says, "Do you have a few minutes?"
Your heart lurches. "Why?"
"I'd like to talk," he says simply. "If you're willing."
You should say no. You should take your vanilla latte when it's ready and walk out of this coffee shop and never look back. You should protect yourself, because six months ago, loving Kento Nanami nearly broke you in half.
"Okay," you hear yourself say instead.
You end up at a small table by the window, as far from the other customers as possible in the cramped space. Kento sits across from you, his long legs folded awkwardly under the tiny table, and you're struck by how surreal this is—sitting across from him like strangers, like you didn't spend two years learning every plane of his face, every subtle shift in his expression.
He looks tired. More tired than you remember, with shadows under his eyes that even his glasses can't hide. There's a small coffee stain on his tie that he probably hasn't noticed yet, and the observation makes your chest ache because you used to be the one who pointed out those things, who kept a stain remover pen in your purse just for him.
"You cut your hair," he says, breaking the silence.
Your hand moves self-consciously to your shoulder-length hair. You'd cut it a month after the breakup, in a fit of desperate need to change something, anything. "Yeah. Needed something different."
He nods slowly. "It suits you."
The compliment shouldn't affect you, but it does. You take a sip of your latte to hide the way your hands are shaking slightly. The vanilla is too sweet, cloying your tongue.
"Why did you want to talk?" you ask, setting the cup down with more force than necessary. "We said everything six months ago."
"Did we?" Kento's gaze is steady, unflinching. "I'm not sure we did."
"You said you couldn't do it anymore," you say, and you hate how your voice wavers. "You said the relationship was too much, that you needed space. That seemed pretty clear to me."
"That's not—" He stops, jaw tightening. Takes a breath. Starts again. "That's not exactly what I said."
"Then what did you say, Kento?" His name tastes like copper in your mouth, like blood from a bitten lip. "Because all I remember is you telling me you were done. That you couldn't handle the pressure of a relationship on top of everything else."
"I said I was failing you," he corrects quietly. "I said I couldn't be what you needed, and that wasn't fair to you."
"And then you left," you finish. "You made that decision for both of us."
He's quiet for a long moment, staring down at his coffee. When he speaks again, his voice is even softer. "Yes. I did."
The admission hangs between you, heavy and painful. Outside the window, people rush past in the grey afternoon, wrapped in scarves and coats, living their lives completely unaware of the way yours is cracking open all over again.
"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper. "Why did you give up?"
Kento finally looks up, and the expression in his eyes makes you wish you hadn't asked. There's pain there, raw and unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
"Because I was drowning," he says simply. "And I was taking you down with me."
You don't know what to say to that. The honesty of it, the stark vulnerability, is so unlike the Kento you knew—the one who kept everything locked behind a wall of professionalism and composure.
"You never told me you were drowning," you say finally. "You never told me anything."
"I know."
"That's it?" Your voice rises despite your best efforts to stay calm. "You know? That's all you have to say?"
A woman at the next table glances over, and you force yourself to lower your voice, leaning forward. "You shut me out, Kento. For months, you shut me out. And when I tried to talk to you about it, when I tried to tell you I was lonely, that I needed more from you, you just... you just kept saying you were tired. That work was stressful. As if that was supposed to be enough."
"It wasn't enough," he agrees. "You deserved better than that."
"I didn't want better," you snap, and the words surprise you with their vehemence. "I wanted you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted you to come home and actually be present instead of just... existing in the same space as me. I wanted to feel like I mattered more than your job."
Kento's jaw clenches. "You did matter."
"Then why didn't it feel like it?" Your eyes are burning now, tears threatening. You blink them back furiously. "Why did I spend two years feeling like I was begging for scraps of your attention? Why did I have to schedule time with my own boyfriend like he was a doctor's appointment?"
"Because I didn't know how to balance it," he says, and there's an edge to his voice now, the first crack in his composure. "I didn't know how to be good at my job and good for you at the same time. And every time I failed at one, I felt like I was failing at both."
"So you just quit?" You shake your head, disbelieving. "You just decided it was too hard and walked away?"
"I decided that you deserved someone who could give you what you needed," he says, and his voice is rising too now, controlled but strained. "Someone who could come home at a reasonable hour and ask about your day and remember your friends' names and actually be a partner instead of just... a ghost who slept in your bed sometimes."
The words hit like a slap because they're true. Toward the end, that's exactly what he'd been—a ghost, a shadow of the man you'd fallen in love with.
"You think I didn't know that?" you ask, and now the tears are falling, hot and angry on your cheeks. "You think I didn't see how exhausted you were? How much were you struggling? I tried to help, Kento. I tried so hard to be understanding, to be patient, to not ask for too much. But you wouldn't let me help. You wouldn't let me in."
"Because I didn't want you to see how much I was failing!" The words burst out of him, loud enough that several people turn to look. Kento doesn't seem to notice. His hands are clenched around his coffee cup, knuckles white. "I didn't want you to see that I was barely holding it together. That I was so tired I could barely think straight. That some days, the only thing that kept me going was knowing I'd come home to you, but then I'd get there and I'd be too exhausted to even have a conversation, and I'd see the disappointment in your eyes, and it would just... it would break me."
You're staring at him, tears streaming freely now. This is more emotion than you've seen from him in the entire last year of your relationship.
"So I pulled away," he continues, his voice rough. "I thought if I could just get through this busy period, if I could just prove myself at work, then things would get better. Then I'd have more time, more energy. But it never got better. It just got worse. And you were so patient and so understanding, and I hated it because I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve you waiting up for me, saving me dinner, and pretending it was okay that I missed another date night."
"That wasn't your decision to make," you say, your voice shaking. "Whether you deserved it or not—that wasn't your call. I chose to be with you. I chose to stay, even when it was hard. You didn't get to decide for me that it was too much."
"You're right," he says quietly. "You're absolutely right."
The admission deflates some of your anger, leaving behind something rawer, more painful. You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, aware that your mascara is probably running and that you must look like a mess.
"I was so angry at you," you whisper. "I'm still angry at you."
"I know."
"You broke my heart."
"I know," he says again, and his voice cracks on the words. "I broke my own too."
You sit in silence for a while after that, both of you trying to compose yourselves. You're aware of the curious glances from other customers, but you can't bring yourself to care. Six months of unspoken words have just come pouring out, and you feel simultaneously lighter and more exhausted than you have in months.
"I saw you," you say eventually. "About two months ago. You were leaving your office building. I was across the street."
Kento looks up, surprise flickering across his face. "You didn't say anything."
"No. You trace the rim of your cup with one finger. "You were with some colleagues. You were laughing at something one of them said. And I just... I stood there and watched you, and I realized I hadn't seen you laugh like that in months before we broke up. Maybe longer."
He's quiet, processing this.
"It made me so angry," you continue. "That you could laugh with them but you couldn't even smile at me anymore. That you had energy for work but nothing left for us."
"It wasn't about energy," Kento says slowly. "It was about... with work, I knew what was expected of me. I knew how to succeed, how to meet the standards. But with you..." He pauses, searching for words. "With you, I never felt like I was enough. Not because of anything you did," he adds quickly. "But because I knew what you deserved, and I knew I wasn't giving it to you. And that failure felt so much worse than any failure at work ever could."
"So you just... stopped trying?"
"I stopped knowing how to try," he corrects. "Every time I disappointed you, it got harder to face you. Easier to stay late at the office. Easier to pretend that if I just worked a little harder, made a little more money, and got a little further in my career, then somehow that would make up for all the ways I was failing you."
You shake your head. "I didn't need you to make more money, Kento. I needed you to come home. I needed you to talk to me. I needed..." You trail off, the words catching in your throat.
"What?" he prompts gently. "What did you need?"
"I needed to feel like you still loved me," you whisper. "Like I wasn't just... convenient. Like you actually wanted to be with me, not just because we'd been together for so long but because you chose me. Every day, you chose me."
Kento's face does something complicated, a flash of pain so intense it makes you want to look away.
"I always loved you," he says, and his voice is rough with emotion. "Even when I was too tired to show it, even when I was failing at everything else—I loved you. That was never in question."
"Then why did you leave?" The question comes out broken, desperate. "If you loved me, why did you give up on us?"
"Because love wasn't enough," he says simply. "Not when I couldn't be the partner you needed. Not when staying together meant watching you slowly realize that you'd settled for someone who couldn't give you what you deserved."
"You keep saying that," you say, frustration bleeding into your voice. "What I deserved. But you never asked me what I wanted. You just decided, all on your own, that you knew what was best for me."
"You're right."
"Stop saying that!" You're crying again, angry tears this time. "Stop agreeing with me like it changes anything. You left, Kento. You made that choice. And I had to spend six months trying to figure out how to be a person again without you, trying to remember who I was before I became the girl waiting for her boyfriend to come home."
He flinches at that, and good. You want him to flinch. You want him to hurt the way you've been hurting.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I know that's not enough, but I am. I'm sorry for shutting you out. I'm sorry for making you feel like you didn't matter. I'm sorry for being too much of a coward to have this conversation six months ago."
"Why now?" you demand. "Why are you saying all this now?"
Kento is quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is barely audible over the noise of the coffee shop.
"Because I've spent six months trying to convince myself I made the right choice—that you're better off without me. That I did the noble thing by letting you go." He looks up, and the raw honesty in his eyes steals your breath. "But I can't. I can't convince myself of that because every day without you has been... empty. And seeing you today, I realized I've been lying to myself. I didn't leave because it was best for you. I left because I was scared."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. "Scared of what?"
"Of failing you completely," he says. "Of watching you fall out of love with me slowly, day by day, until you looked at me and felt nothing but resentment. I thought if I left first, at least you'd remember me as someone you loved, not someone you grew to hate."
"That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard," you say, and you mean it. "You broke both our hearts because you were afraid of a future that might not have even happened?"
"Yes," he admits. "I did."
The honesty of it, the complete lack of defensiveness, takes the wind out of your sails. You slump back in your chair, suddenly exhausted.
"I don't know what you want from me," you say tiredly. "An absolution? Forgiveness? Because I don't know if I can give you that."
"I don't want absolution," Kento says. "I just wanted you to know the truth. That it was never about you not being enough. It was always about me being too broken to accept what you were offering."
"You weren't broken," you say, and despite everything, you mean it. "You were tired and overwhelmed and struggling. But you weren't broken, Kento. You just needed help, and you wouldn't let anyone give it to you."
"I know that now," he says quietly. "I've been... I've been seeing someone. A therapist."
That surprises you. Kento had always been so resistant to the idea of therapy, so convinced he could handle everything on his own.
"That's good," you say, and you mean it. "I'm glad."
"She's helped me understand a lot of things," he continues. "About why I am the way I am. About the patterns I fall into. About how I use work as a way to avoid dealing with emotions I don't know how to process."
You nod slowly. "I'm glad you're getting help. Really."
"I've made changes too," he says. "At work. I set boundaries now. I leave at reasonable hours. I take my vacation days." A small, sad smile crosses his face. "All the things you used to beg me to do."
The words sting because they're true. You'd spent so much time trying to convince him to take care of himself, to set limits, and to prioritize his own well-being. And he'd done it—just not for you. Not when it could have saved your relationship.
"I'm happy for you," you say, and part of you means it. Part of you is genuinely glad that he's taking better care of himself.
But another part—a smaller, meaner part—is angry that it took losing you for him to make those changes.
"I know it's too late," Kento says, as if reading your mind. "I know I can't undo the damage I did. But I wanted you to know that I heard you. Everything you said, everything you tried to tell me—I heard it. I just heard it too late."
You need air. The coffee shop suddenly feels too small, too warm, too full of ghosts and regrets. You stand abruptly, grabbing your purse.
"I need to go," you say.
Kento stands too, concern flickering across his face. "Wait—"
"No," you cut him off. "This is too much. I can't... I need to think."
You're moving toward the door before he can respond, pushing out into the cool autumn air. It hits your face like a slap, and you gulp it down, trying to steady yourself.
You make it half a block before you hear footsteps behind you.
"Please," Kento's voice calls out. "Please, just wait."
You stop, but you don't turn around. You can't look at him right now, can't see whatever expression is on his face.
"What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice carrying back to him on the wind. "What is the point of all this?"
"I don't know," he admits, and you can hear him moving closer. "I didn't plan this. I didn't expect to see you today. But now that I have, I just... I can't let you walk away without telling you that I'm sorry. That I was wrong. That losing you was the biggest mistake of my life."
You turn around then, and he's closer than you expected, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. He's so tall, and you're so short, and the physical difference between you has never felt more pronounced.
"You don't get to do this," you say, and your voice is shaking. "You don't get to show up and say all the right things now, after six months. After I've finally started to put myself back together."
"I know—"
"Do you?" you interrupt. "Do you know what it was like? Coming home to an empty apartment after you left? Sleeping alone after two years of sharing a bed? Having to tell everyone we broke up and seeing the pity in their eyes? Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to be okay again?"
"No," he says quietly. "I don't. But I know what it was like for me, and it was hell. And I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But I'm asking anyway."
"Asking what?"
"For a chance," he says. "Not to go back to what we were—I know that's not possible. But to start over. To do it right this time."
You stare at him, disbelieving. "You can't be serious."
"I am," he says, and there's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. "I know I don't deserve it. I know I hurt you. But I've spent six months becoming someone better, someone who might actually be worthy of you. And if there's even a chance that you might consider—"
"No," you say flatly. "Absolutely not."
The rejection clearly hurts him, but he nods, accepting it. "I understand."
"Do you?" You're angry again, the emotion rising hot and fast in your chest. "Because I don't think you do. You think you can just... what? Show up, tell me you've been going to therapy and setting work boundaries, and I'll just fall back into your arms? Like the last six months didn't happen? Like you didn't completely shatter me?"
"That's not what I think," he says, but you're not done.
"I loved you so much it scared me," you continue, and the words are pouring out now, unstoppable. "I loved you so much that I made myself smaller, asked for less, and convinced myself that the scraps of attention you gave me were enough. I lost myself in loving you, Kento. And when you left, I had to figure out who I was without you. I had to learn how to be whole on my own."
"I know—"
"And now you want me to risk that?" Your voice breaks. "You want me to risk becoming that person again? The one who waits and hopes and makes excuses? I can't. I won't."
"I'm not asking you to be that person," Kento says, and there's a firmness in his voice now. "I'm not asking you to make yourself smaller or ask for less. I'm asking for the chance to be better. To be the partner I should have been from the start."
"People don't change," you say bitterly. "Not really. Not in the ways that matter."
"Then I'll prove you wrong," he says simply. "However long it takes."
You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. You're cold suddenly, the autumn air seeping through your coat. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to have this conversation."
"Okay," he says, and he takes a step back, giving you space. "Okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed."
The apology, the immediate respect for your boundary, is so different from the Kento you knew—the one who would have shut down, gone quiet, and retreated into himself. This Kento is present, engaged, and willing to be vulnerable even when it's uncomfortable.
It makes you want to scream.
"I hate this," you whisper. "I hate that you're different now. I hate that you're saying all the things I needed to hear six months ago. I hate that part of me wants to believe you."
Kento's expression softens. "I hate it too. I hate that I had to lose you to figure out how to be better. I hate that I wasted so much time being afraid when I could have been loving you the way you deserved."
"Stop," you say, but it comes out weak. "Please stop."
"I'm sorry," he says again. "I'll go. But before I do, can I ask you one thing?"
You should say no. You should walk away right now and never look back. But instead, you nod.
"Are you happy?" he asks. "Without me. Are you happy?"
The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to say yes, to lie, to protect yourself. But something in his expression—the genuine concern, the lack of judgment—makes you pause.
"I don't know," you admit finally. "I'm... better. I'm healing. But happy?" You shake your head. "I don't know if I know what that feels like anymore."
Kento nods slowly, as if this is the answer he expected. "Thank you for being honest."
"Why did you ask?"
"Because if you were happy, I'd leave you alone," he says simply. "I'd walk away right now and never bother you again. Your happiness matters more to me than my own regrets."
The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. "That's not fair."
"What isn't?"
"You being... this." You gesture vaguely at him. "Emotionally available and honest and saying all the right things. It's not fair."
A small, sad smile crosses his face. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," you say, but there's no heat in it. You're too tired for anger now, wrung out from the emotional whiplash of the last hour.
"I should go," Kento says, but he doesn't move. "Let you get home."
"Yeah," you agree, but you don't move either.
You stand there on the sidewalk, two people who used to know each other better than anyone, now strangers trying to figure out how to say goodbye.
"Can I ask you something?" you say finally.
"Anything."
"If I said yes—if I said I'd give you another chance—what would that even look like? How would it be different?"
Kento considers this carefully, and you can see him choosing his words with precision. "It would be slow," he says. "We'd start from the beginning. Dates. Conversations. Getting to know each other again, because we're both different people now than we were six months ago."
"And work?" you press. "What happens when you get busy again? When there's a big case or a deadline?"
"I'd communicate," he says. "I'd tell you when I'm overwhelmed instead of shutting down. I'd ask for help instead of trying to handle everything alone. And I'd keep my boundaries, even when it's hard. Because I know now that burning myself out doesn't help anyone—not my clients, not my colleagues, and certainly not the people I love."
The people I love. Present tense. Your heart stutters.
"I'd also be in therapy," he continues. "Regularly. Not just until I feel better, but as an ongoing thing. Because I need help learning how to be in a relationship in a healthy way. I never learned that growing up, and I can't just figure it out on my own."
You're quiet, processing this. It all sounds good—too good, maybe. Like a script he's rehearsed.
"You don't believe me," he observes.
"I don't know what I believe," you admit. "Part of me wants to. But part of me is terrified that if I let you back in, you'll just hurt me again. And I don't know if I could survive that twice."
"I can't promise I won't hurt you," Kento says, and the honesty of it is startling. "I can't promise I'll be perfect or that I won't make mistakes. But I can promise that I won't run away when things get hard. I won't shut you out. And I won't make decisions about our relationship without you."
"Those are big promises."
"I know," he says. "And I understand if you don't trust me to keep them. I haven't given you any reason to trust me."
"No," you agree. "You haven't."
The words hang between you, brutal in their honesty. Kento takes them without flinching, without trying to defend himself or make excuses.
"I should go," you say again, and this time you mean it. "I need time to think."
"Of course," he says immediately. "Take all the time you need."
You start to walk away, then pause. "Kento?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," you say quietly. "For being honest. For not making excuses. It doesn't change anything, but... thank you."
He nods, and there's something in his expression that makes your chest ache—hope and resignation and love all tangled together.
You walk away before you can change your mind, before you can do something stupid like ask him to come home with you, like pretend the last six months didn't happen. You walk until you can't feel his eyes on your back anymore, until you turn a corner and he's out of sight.
And then you stop, leaning against a building, and let yourself cry.
Three days pass before you can bring yourself to think about the encounter without wanting to scream. Three days of going through the motions—work, home, sleep, repeat—while your mind spins in endless circles.
You talk to your best friend, who listens patiently while you word-vomit everything that happened. She doesn't tell you what to do, which you're grateful for. She just listens and asks questions and reminds you that whatever you decide, she'll support you.
You make a list of pros and cons, like you're deciding whether to take a new job rather than whether to give your ex-boyfriend another chance. The cons list is longer, but the pros carry more weight.
You think about the Kento you fell in love with—the one who brought you coffee in bed on Sunday mornings, who listened to you talk about your day with genuine interest, and who held you like you were something precious. And you think about Kento from the end—the ghost, the stranger, the man who looked at you with exhaustion instead of love.
And then you think about Kento from the coffee shop—present, honest, and vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be before.
You don't know which one is real. Maybe they all are.
On the fourth day, you find yourself walking past his office building. You don't mean to—or maybe you do, subconsciously. Either way, you're there at 6 PM, watching people stream out of the building in their business attire, tired and ready to go home.
You see him at 6:15. He's walking out with a colleague, laughing at something they said, and your heart clenches because he looks good. Healthy. Less exhausted than he used to be.
He's keeping his boundaries, you realize. He's actually leaving at a reasonable hour.
He doesn't see you, and you don't call out to him. You just watch as he says goodbye to his colleague and heads toward the train station, briefcase in hand, looking like a man who has his life together.
You wonder if he's thinking about you. If he's spent the last four days spinning in circles the way you have, or if he's moved on, accepted your rejection, and started the process of letting go.
The thought of him letting go makes your chest ache in a way you don't want to examine too closely.
A week after the coffee shop encounter, you find yourself sitting in your therapist's office, trying to explain the situation without crying. You mostly succeed.
"What do you want?" Dr. Sato asks in that gentle but direct way she has.
"I don't know," you admit. "That's the problem."
"Let me rephrase," she says. "If you could have anything—if there were no risks, no possibility of getting hurt—what would you want?"
The answer comes immediately, without thought: "Him. I'd want him."
Dr. Sato nods, unsurprised. "And what's stopping you?"
"Fear," you say. "Fear that he'll hurt me again. Fear that he hasn't really changed. Fear that I'm being stupid and naive for even considering it."
"Those are valid fears," she acknowledges. "But let me ask you this: what if he has changed? What if he's done the work and he's ready to be the partner you need? Would you be able to forgive yourself for not taking that chance?"
The question sits heavy in your chest. "I don't know."
"You don't have to know right now," Dr. Sato says. "But I think you need to be honest with yourself about what you want. Not what you think you should want, or what would be safest, but what you actually want."
"I want to believe him," you whisper. "I want to believe that people can change, that love can be enough if you're both willing to work for it. But I'm so scared."
"Being scared doesn't mean you're making the wrong choice," she says gently. "It just means you're being brave enough to risk something that matters."
Two weeks after the coffee shop, you find his number in your phone. You never deleted it, even though you told yourself you did. You've just been avoiding the messages app, pretending it doesn't exist.
You stare at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the call button.
Finally, you type out a message instead: Can we talk?
The response comes within minutes: Yes. When and where?
You suggest a park near your apartment, somewhere public but quiet. Somewhere you can leave if you need to.
Tomorrow at 2? You type.
I'll be there.
You spend the rest of the night trying not to panic about what you're doing, trying not to second-guess yourself into paralysis. You don't know what you're going to say to him. You just know you need to see him again, need to figure out if what you felt in the coffee shop was real or just nostalgia and unresolved feelings.
He's already there when you arrive, sitting on a bench overlooking a small pond. He's dressed more casually than you've ever seen him—jeans and a sweater, no tie. It makes him look younger, more approachable.
He stands when he sees you, and there's a nervousness in the gesture that's oddly endearing.
"Hi," you say, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Hi," he replies. "Thank you for reaching out."
You sit on the bench, leaving space between you. He sits too, careful not to crowd you.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You watch the ducks on the pond, the way they glide across the water with effortless grace.
"I've been thinking," you say finally. "About what you said. About starting over."
Kento goes very still beside you. "And?"
"And I don't know if I can do it," you admit. "I don't know if I'm brave enough to risk getting hurt again."
"That's understandable," he says quietly.
"But," you continue, and you feel him tense with hope, "I also don't know if I can live with not trying. With always wondering what if."
You turn to look at him, and the expression on his face is so full of careful hope it makes your heart ache.
"I'm not saying yes," you clarify quickly. "I'm not saying let's get back together and pretend nothing happened. But maybe... maybe we could try being friends first. Talking. Getting to know each other again."
"I'd like that," Kento says, and his voice is rough with emotion. "I'd like that very much."
"I have conditions," you warn.
"Of course."
"We take it slow. Really slow. And if at any point I feel like you're falling back into old patterns, I'm out. No second chances after this."
"Understood."
"And you have to be honest with me," you continue. "About everything. How you're feeling, what you're struggling with, and when you're overwhelmed. No more shutting me out."
"I can do that," he says. "I will do that."
"And therapy," you add. "You stay in therapy. And maybe... maybe eventually, if we get to that point, we could do couples counseling too."
"Yes," he agrees immediately. "Whatever you need."
You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "Okay. Then let's try this. As friends."
"As friends," he echoes, and there's a small smile on his face—tentative but genuine.
You sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks. It's not comfortable, exactly, but it's not unbearable either. It's just... present. Real.
"Can I ask you something?" Kento says eventually.
"Sure."
"What made you change your mind? About talking to me again?"
You consider the question carefully. "I saw you," you admit. "Leaving your office. You looked... good. Healthy. Like you were taking care of yourself. And I realized that I wanted that for you, even if it wasn't with me. But I also realized that I wanted to know if maybe, possibly, it could be with me. If we could both be healthy and happy and together."
Kento is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is soft. "I want that too. More than anything."
"Then we'll see," you say. "We'll take it slow and see what happens."
"Thank you," he says. "For giving me this chance. I know I don't deserve it."
"Maybe not," you agree. "But maybe that's not the point. Maybe the point is that we both deserve to be happy, and maybe we can figure out how to do that together."
"Maybe," he echoes, and there's hope in his voice—fragile but real.
The first month is awkward. You meet for coffee once a week, always in public places, always with an exit strategy. You talk about surface things at first—work, the weather, books you've read. It feels stilted and strange, like you're both trying to remember how to be around each other.
But slowly, gradually, it gets easier. The conversations go deeper. He tells you about therapy, about the things he's learning about himself. You tell him about your life, about the friends you've reconnected with, and the hobbies you've picked up.
He doesn't push for more, doesn't try to rush things. He shows up when he says he will, responds to your messages promptly, and respects every boundary you set.
It's so different from before that sometimes you have to remind yourself this is the same person.
Two months in, you have your first real conversation about the breakup. You're walking through the park again, and somehow the topic comes up naturally.
"I was so angry at you," you admit. "For months, I was just... furious. At you for leaving, at me for not being enough to make you stay."
"You were always enough," Kento says firmly. "That was never the issue."
"I know that now," you say. "Intellectually, I know it. But emotionally? It's harder to believe."
"I understand," he says. "For what it's worth, I was angry at myself too. I still am, sometimes. For being too stubborn and proud to ask for help when I needed it."
"Are you better at that now?" you ask. "Asking for help?"
"I'm trying to be," he says. "It doesn't come naturally. But I'm learning."
You nod, appreciating the honesty. "That's all any of us can do, I guess. Try to be better."
"I want to be better for you," he says quietly. "But also for myself. I don't want to be that person anymore—the one who was so consumed by work that he forgot how to live."
"Who are you now, then?" you ask, genuinely curious.
Kento considers this. "I'm still figuring that out. But I think I'm someone who's learning to set boundaries. Who's learning that my worth isn't determined by how many hours I work or how many cases I win. Who's learning that it's okay to be vulnerable, to admit when I'm struggling?"
"I like that person," you say softly. "I'd like to get to know him better."
The smile he gives you is small but genuine, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest.
Three months in, you have dinner at a restaurant—your first real date, though neither of you calls it that. He picks you up at your apartment, and when you open the door, he's holding flowers.
"I remember you liked these," he says, offering you the bouquet of sunflowers.
You take them, touched by the gesture and the fact that he remembered. "Thank you."
Dinner is nice. Easy. You laugh more than you have in months, and when he walks you back to your apartment, you find yourself not wanting the evening to end.
"Would you like to come up?" you ask, then quickly add, "Just for coffee. Nothing else."
"I'd like that," he says.
Your apartment looks different than it did when you were together. You've redecorated and made it more yours. Kento notices, commenting on the new artwork, the rearranged furniture.
"It looks good," he says. "Very you."
You make coffee, and you sit on opposite ends of the couch, the space between you feeling both vast and insignificant.
"Can I ask you something?" you say.
"Always."
"Do you think about it? About us, before?"
"Every day," he admits. "I think about all the things I did wrong, all the ways I failed you. But I also think about the good parts. The Sunday mornings, the quiet evenings, the way you used to steal my sweaters."
You smile despite yourself. "You always pretended to be annoyed by that."
"I wasn't," he says. "I loved it. I loved seeing you in my clothes, loved the way you'd curl up in them like they were armor."
The admission makes your chest ache. "Why didn't you tell me that then?"
"Because I was an idiot," he says simply. "Because I thought showing love meant providing and protecting, not... being present. Being soft."
"And now?"
"Now I know better," he says. "Now I know that love is in the small things. The everyday moments. The choice to show up, even when it's hard."
You're quiet for a moment, processing this. "I'm scared," you admit. "Of letting myself fall for you again. Of getting hurt."
"I'm scared too," Kento says. "Of messing this up. Of falling back into old patterns. Of losing you again."
"So what do we do?"
"We keep being honest," he says. "We keep communicating. We keep choosing each other, every day, even when it's hard."
"That sounds exhausting," you say, but you're smiling.
"It probably will be sometimes," he agrees. "But I think it'll be worth it."
You look at him—really look at him—and you see the changes. The softness in his expression, the openness in his posture, the way he's fully present in this moment instead of mentally somewhere else.
"I think I'm ready," you say quietly. "To try this for real. Not just as friends."
Kento's breath catches. "Are you sure?"
"No," you admit. "But I don't think I'll ever be completely sure. And I don't want to let fear stop me from taking a chance on something that could be really good."
"We'll go slow," he promises. "As slow as you need."
"Okay," you say. "Then let's try this. For real this time."
He reaches across the couch, offering his hand. You take it, and the touch is electric, familiar, and new all at once.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For giving me another chance. For being brave enough to try again."
"Thank you for doing the work," you reply. "For becoming someone who's ready for this."
You sit like that for a while, hands linked, both of you afraid to move and break the moment. Outside, the city continues its endless rhythm, but in your apartment, time feels suspended.
"I should go," Kento says eventually, though he doesn't move. "It's getting late."
"You could stay," you offer, then quickly clarify, "on the couch. If you want."
He smiles. "I'd like that."
You get him a blanket and a pillow, and you say goodnight at your bedroom door. It feels both strange and right, having him in your space again but maintaining boundaries.
That night, you sleep better than you have in months.
The next few months aren't perfect. There are moments when old fears resurface, when you catch yourself waiting for him to disappoint you. There are times when he gets stressed about work and you see him start to retreat, and you have to remind him to communicate instead of shutting down.
But he does communicate. He tells you when he's overwhelmed, asks for space when he needs it, and always comes back to talk things through. You learn to trust again, slowly, one day at a time.
You start couples counseling, which is hard and uncomfortable and necessary. You talk about the past, about the patterns that broke you the first time, about how to build something healthier.
Six months after that day in the coffee shop, you're lying in bed together—your bed, in your apartment—because you're not ready to move in together yet, but you're ready for this. He's tracing patterns on your shoulder, and you're listening to his heartbeat, and everything feels right in a way it never did before.
"I love you," he says quietly. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. I love you so much it terrifies me sometimes."
"I love you too," you reply, and it's easier to say than you expected. "Even though you drive me crazy sometimes."
He laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. "I'll probably drive you crazy a lot. I'm still learning how to do this."
"We both are," you say. "But I think we're getting better at it."
"Yeah," he agrees. "I think we are."
You fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, and for the first time in a long time, you're not afraid of what tomorrow will bring.
Because you know that whatever comes, you'll face it together. Not perfectly, not without struggles, but together.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe that's everything.
Epilogue
A year after the coffee shop encounter, you're back in that same café. It's become a tradition of sorts—meeting here on the anniversary of the day you ran into each other, the day everything changed.
Kento is across from you, and he's smiling in that soft way he does now, the one that makes your heart skip.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
"How different things are," you say. "How different we are."
"Better different?"
"Much better," you confirm. "Though I never thought I'd say that a year ago."
"Neither did I," he admits. "I thought I'd lost you forever."
"You almost did," you say honestly. "If you hadn't done the work, if you hadn't been willing to change... I don't think I could have taken you back."
"I know," he says. "I'm grateful every day that you gave me the chance to prove I could be better."
"You are better," you say. "We both are."
He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "I have something for you."
"Kento, we said no gifts—"
"It's not a gift," he interrupts. "It's more of a... symbol."
He pulls out a key, setting it on the table between you. "It's to my apartment. I know we're not ready to live together yet, but I want you to have it. I want you to know that you're always welcome, that my space is your space."
You pick up the key, turning it over in your fingers. It's such a simple thing, but the meaning behind it makes your eyes sting with tears.
"Thank you," you whisper. "For trusting me with this."
"Thank you for trusting me with your heart," he replies. "Again. I know how hard that was."
You lean across the table, kissing him softly. "I love you."
"I love you too," he says against your lips. "So much."
As you sit back, key clutched in your hand, you think about how far you've both come. About the pain and the growth and the choice to try again.
It wasn't easy. It's still not easy some days.
But it's worth it.
He's worth it.
You're worth it.
And together, you're building something new—something stronger than what you had before, something built on honesty and communication and the willingness to keep choosing each other, even when it's hard.
Especially when it's hard.
Outside the coffee shop window, the world continues its endless rhythm. But inside, in this small corner of Tokyo, two people who almost lost each other are finding their way back.
Authors note: You and Nanami have been working together for so long and the attraction between you has never been stronger. Constantly exchanging glances, simple yet explicit comments and the lightest, yet very hesitant touches made it very clear to you that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. It's probably fate that you both have to work overtime at the same time today and happen to be all alone in the office...
cw: office sex, fingering, unprotected,
He kept looking over at you, brief, seemingly harmless glances over the edge of the screen. You were sitting opposite him. The computers to your left and right were all empty, as most of your colleagues had already gone home. It was late, already late in the evening and yet you were still here, your head immersed in the most boring documents. Lately, you've often had to work overtime. You were too easily distracted and couldn't finish your work on time. The reason was sitting opposite you and was constantly casting furtive glances at you.
Nanami Kento, an otherwise quiet, conscientious man, your work colleague and clearly someone you had a soft spot for. You hoped fervently that he couldn't see how nervous you were, how hard you were clenching your thighs and chewing your lip. You tried in vain to finish the last documents and reminded yourself not to look up from the computer. It had worked quite well for a while. Almost as if you were alone. Every now and then you could hear him yawning softly, clearing his throat or stretching. Was it strange that these sounds alone gave you a pleasant feeling? So pleasant that you had to control yourself not to let out a soft sigh?
The silence in the office was nerve-wracking because every little noise could be heard. But not only that, because when he started looking at you, it was almost as if he had touched you. His eyes fell on your body, it felt like contact. Your whole body tingled like crazy and what good was it to control yourself? You looked up in his direction and met his gaze exactly. His dark eyes seemed to be a little darker than usual due to the slight dark circles. You lost yourself in them for a moment, the eye contact was too intense.
»Is something wrong?« came nervously from your lips, your legs pressed even tighter together. He didn't break his gaze and continued to look at you. It seemed as if he was thinking about a clever excuse and explanation himself until he found an one to ask you over to his side. With soft knees, you went after him and ended up standing next to him, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at his screen. You came close to him, unconsciously or not? In any case, it was no coincidence that the first few buttons of your blouse were undone and he had certainly taken two furtive glances at your cleavage. Your breasts almost wanted to pop out of your shirt, while the heat between your legs increased significantly. His scent clouded your senses as you tried hard to concentrate.
»I don't quite agree with what you wrote here, Y/N...« he said, nodding at the screen. His brows furrowed, he ran his fingers over his chin seemingly thoughtfully but something told you that he was struggling with some nervousness as well.
»What's the problem, Nanami?« you asked him seemingly harmlessly. He let out a sigh and the deep undertone in his smoky voice sent a shiver down your spine. You'd been working with him for so long now, but you'd never seen him like this before. Somehow he tried to find an explanation, pointing and tapping at the screen, but you didn't let that discourage you. Instead, you half sat down on his desk, crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked down at him.
»Y/N...« he began, drawing out your name with relish. His eyes looked you up and down. Impressed that you were exhibiting a whole new behavior today. Something he had been waiting for for a long time.
»Are we doing some more overtime, Kento?« you asked him blatantly and began to undo more buttons on your blouse. »Do you think I haven't noticed the way you're looking at me?«
His eyes widened briefly, his lips were open. You could actually see a slight blush rising on his cheeks. But he regained his composure just as quickly, standing up from the chair and directly in front of you. His face just centimetres away from yours.
»I thought I was good at hiding it.« His hand moved carefully to your thigh, touching your skin and running his fingers gently over it. You giggled in amusement.
»You're not, Kento. But neither am I.«
Instead of saying anything, he grinned a little, let his other hand wander to the back of your head and pulled you closer to place his lips on yours. He started a little hesitantly, but the more you relaxed, the more insistent he became. Seemingly encouraged by the situation of being alone with you, he wanted to seize the opportunity. He pressed himself closer to your body, moving his hand from your thigh up to the hem of your skirt. He pulled and pushed at it a little, pushing it up to touch more of your skin. With a very clear idea of where he wanted to go, his hand kneaded your thigh until it disappeared further and further between them.
You sighed excitedly into the kiss, grabbed his shoulders and clawed your fingers into his shirt. He paused only very briefly, letting go of your lips to look at you. The tip of his nose touched yours, his breath met your mouth.
»I'd like to see a little more of you, Y/N.« he pushed your skirt up further, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow as he caught sight of the silk panties, which already had a distinctly damp trail. Your face was completely flushed and your heart was beating faster and faster. Was that really happening? His fingers ran over the fabric once before he impatiently slipped them into your panties to feel your wet pussy. You immediately moaned in delight, clutching your hands tighter into his shoulders. How ridiculous it had been to wait so long. It was more than obvious how much you both wanted this. And if he wanted to take you here and now in the office, then that was more than fine by you.
He growled low in your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Your hips unconsciously adjusted to his touch, as if you already wanted to rub yourself against his fingers.
»You like that?« he said. Knowing full well that he saw how much you liked it, he still wanted to hear it from your mouth. It was already open and the air was flowing in and out of it excitedly. You nodded, bit your lips and continued to let yourself drift away from his touch. He used two fingers, sliding them agonizingly slowly towards your damp walls. You could no longer utter any normal sentences, just surrendered to his touch. And by God, what did it do to him to see you like that.
How often had he dared to approach you, to cross the line and do what he wanted with you? Out of respect for you and to maintain professionalism at work, he had always held back. But now that you had taken the plunge, he couldn't stop himself. He only wanted you. Here and now. His table should still have your prints on it tomorrow. He still wanted your scent here tomorrow, to know that he had taken you here. Your body was craving and screaming for him. The more his fingers slid over your pussy, the more aroused you became. They pressed in deeper, he felt your arousal spread more and more over his fingers, how deliciously they closed around his fingers. You moaned in his ear as your hips moved more and more against his. You could no longer miss the bulge in his pants.
»Oh fuck, Kento...feels so good...« you moaned into his ear, your eyes closed in pleasure. He grumbled something back, his voice vibrating against your skin. His fingers penetrated deep inside you, touching and teasing your deepest and most sensitive parts. Your hips moved faster against his fingers, in the same rhythm and all by themselves. Only short words and moans came out of your mouth, encouraging him not to stop. No matter how hard it pulled in his pants, how much his cock pulsated and hardened, he kept his fingers in your pussy to feel how much he was driving you to climax. You were a moaning creature in his arms.
»Will you cum for me?« he asked you in a low voice.
»Mmm..y-yes...« you mumbled, but that wasn't enough for him.
»Y/N, use your words...« his lips spread hungry kisses on your neck, he let his tongue wander over your skin as if he already wanted to mark you. You pulled yourself together to get a few more words out of your mouth.
»I want to cum for you, Kento. Oh God, yes.« You whimpered desperately, wanting more and more. There was no stopping it. He complied with your request, and as you felt the heat inside you reaching a climax, he pulled his fingers away with a groan. He was so impatient, so eager to take you here and now on his cock. So he lifted you up, set you down on the table and spread your legs. Your skirt was pushed up mercilessly, your panties down.
»Fuck, I can't wait,« he growled and had already unzipped his pants. You looked down in a daze and saw his hand gripping and rubbing his already hard cock. Precum leaking from the tip, just so needy to be finally in you.
»Please, Kento. Fuck me already...« you were still trembling all over from your almost orgasm and now full of anticipation to finally feel him inside you. Nanami slid the tip of his hard erection against your pussy, rubbing it against you and making you moan. He wanted nothing more than to sink himself deep inside you. Your pussy was so wet and so ready for him, so he slid in so easily, but still gave you enough time to get used to it. Just like the gentleman he was.
And he was hard. You felt his pulsating length pushing in millimeter by millimeter, stretching your pussy. You drew in your breath excitedly, moaned against him and looked into his dark eyes.
»You're so tight...« he growled aroused and began to slowly thrust his hips against yours. He loved the way your pussy closed around his cock as if it had always belonged there. Your arousal and his mixed together and the more you drove him on, the more confident and faster he became. The desk shook beneath you, the screens shook, a pen rolled off the table onto the floor but all these noises didn't make him stop fucking you in the slightest. And hard. You moaned his name over and over again, your voice lingering in the office paired with the sounds of your skin slapping against each other.
»Oh yes, yes, yes! Oh fuck yes, Kento...« you kept repeating and that was the only thing you could say. You were incapable of anything else when his hard thrusts wanted to break you. You never expected him to be like this. He had skillfully hidden everything behind his polite facade. His lips found your neck and spread kisses on it and behind your ear. He wanted to hear you, wanted to hear your voice. You came closer and closer to your orgasm, everything tightened wonderfully and you could literally feel his cock quivering inside you. His tip kept hitting your G-spot, the exact spot that broke everything in you. You came loudly and desperately, your hands dug deeper into his shoulders and your mouth was wide open.
Your pussy tightened and tightened around his cock as he shot his seed into you and climaxed with you immediately afterwards. He moaned into your ear, almost as desperate as you were, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly that red marks appeared on your skin. He thrust into you a few more times to spread his juices all over you. Your legs trembled, as did the rest of your body. Seconds passed in which you both fully savored the effects of the climax. Knowing that things were going to be different from now on. Now you couldn't get enough of this man.
The thought that you had come on his desk made you grin. His cum was spread deep in your pussy, mixed with your arousal. Nanami breathed quickly and looked at you as he ran a hand through your hair softly. You were both silent as you enjoyed the afterglow but it wasn't an awkward silence. You knew that he was now yours and you were his.
Boss!Nanami X Intern!Reader
You guys don't even know how much of a whore I am for this man, and I don't even like blondes. Like I need that dick NEOWWWWW. Every hole filled idc. Not proofread.
NSFW below the cut
Nanami was a collected man. He worked an office job, and through amazing work ethic and labor, he managed to find himself in a well paying position, the raise that came with the promotion was more than he initially thought. He was great with communication, handling clients, leading a team. Nothing ever really distracted him from work, until...
Until the new intern showed up. You. A pretty young thing. Fresh out of college, and into the work force. You were an intern, being one of Nanami's primary assistant, since his last one had put her two weeks in. They had her train you before her final days.
Your little cubicle was just outside of his office, the tall clear doors. The rest of the team placed not too far from his office.
Your little tight skirts and one button too unbuttoned blouses had his cock aching, just wondering what it was like to just slip inside you. Once he had accidentally knocked a pen off his desk, and you bend down without a thought to retrieve it, exposing just a peek of your cute little pink underwear underneath your pencil skirt. He furrows his brows as he turns away from the heavenly sight before you catch him undressing you with his eyes. He seemed to grow more clumsy around you, knocking things off by accident.
Nanami considers himself a disciplined man, but the first time he sees your cute little face smiling at him through your lashes as he gives you a tour of the building, it's like all professional barriers he had put between you and him in his head just collapsed.
You had him fisting his cock at night thinking of you. This was now nearly a daily occurrence. He'd imagine you on top of him pushing his huge cock into your tiny cunt. Or your mouth swirling over his tip. Fucking you into a mating press. Endless scenarios played in his head for months, but he knew nothing would compare to the real thing.
A huge project deadline was coming up. He knew he'd be working overtime. There were nights like this, where he'd be in late until the AM's, getting the last few things finished before the next function.
The office had cleared out for the day, it was past 6:30, leaving Nanami sighing in his office chair, leaning back as he sighed. The lights were all off with the exception of the warm lamp in his office. The huge windows that made up his wall showed the view of the night city sky. More money means more responsibility, which means more late nights. He notices that someone had left their computer not fully shut off, and he groans in annoyance.
He gets up, opening his office door making his way to the computer left on. He's leaned against the table, squinting his eyes as he maneuvers the mouse to the shut down button. The small chime of the shut down goes off.
Just as he turns around, you turn the corner and bump right into him, water splashing onto the both of you.
"Ack-! I-I'm sorry sir!" You say scrambling for the paper cup and papers in your hands.
Nanami is startled for a moment, wondering why you're the only one left. "You haven't gone home yet?" He asks, gently using his arm to give you balance. "N-No sir," You say straightening your full hands. "You haven't gone home yet."
It's dark, but Nanami can see the huge water stain on your button up, leaving it completely see through to him. He's trying to not notice, but it's making his dick half hard. He can see your light colored bra, and of course, you've got one button that just breaches the line between corporate dress code to too casual, unbuttoned. It seems that you don't even realize how exposed you actually are.
"I was just finishing out the rest of my tasks in the copy room, and I was bringing this water for you." You say embarrassed that you've now made not just a mess of yourself, but the freshly copied papers you'd now have to reprint.
"Oh," He says leaning casually behind the cubicle wall, hardly enough to notice, but enough to somewhat hide his growing hard cock that might as well be springing out of his pants. "Well, you're free to go as soon as it hits 5. People usually completely clear out of here by 6:30." He's clenching his jaw trying to avert his gaze.
You smile, "Yeah, well, maybe you should too. It's late and you don't look so well. You should get some rest?"
"Yeah, I think that might be best for us both." He says with a sigh. He feels so much pressure in his body, he's afraid he'll burst right in front of you.
"See you tomorrow then," You say smiling as you turn to make your leave.
"Be safe," Nanami says as he watches your back until you exit the room.
He lets out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding. His cock is throbbing in his pants, and he can't help but palm himself over his slacks. He needs to get home, shower, fist his cock thinking of your soaked chest, and sleep.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : being married to a celebrity comes with more than what you expected.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : angst with a happy ending, smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, oral sex, choking, praise, pet names (good girl and pretty), love, teasing, fingering, edging, overstimulation, mentions on stress and anxiety, arguing, stalking? (from paparazzi), hate sex, breakup sex, established relationship
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 3.1k
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from 10 james orr street by strawberry switchblade.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoy it, if so, follow me for more. au revoir!
18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT
A note dropped through the door, tells us to go, but I know that you will tell them to go somewhere else.
You walk in front of Nanami now, your security guards trying to escort you two into your Hollywood Hills home. Camera flashes blind you as you attempt to walk to the front door, but one particular asshole decides to get in front of you both to take a photo. That was the last straw for Nanami.
“Give me that damn camera. You think it’s okay to take pictures of people on their property? I’ll get you arrested, motherfucker!”
Nanami took the camera and threw it on your stone driveway, destroying it. He realized at that moment that his actions would result in even more drama for the news to exploit. He could see it now, "Kento Nanami gone crazy, commits vandalism". You guys finally reach the door, the security guards open it for you as you rush in, Nanami slamming the door shut behind the two of you.
Because you know that I want to stay in this house forever, I don't want to ever leave.
It all started when you and Nanami decided to go public with your engagement. His fans were shocked, considering you guys kept your dating lowkey, but once you agreed to marry him, Nanami thought it would be appropriate to let the world know you were about to be Mrs. Nanami. Then, there was the wedding, which thankfully you had in Greece, meaning less paparazzi, but more of them waiting for the newlywed's arrival back home. All you could do was prepare for the change that came with being Nanami’s wife.
For a while, you were hiding out in Nanami’s second home in Bel Air, but why were you hiding? Because you wanted to go on a simple trip to the beach with Mei Mei last month. You went onto social media that night and endlessly scrolled through posts of people commenting on your bikini-clad body. She’s gained weight. She’s getting thinner. It’s like they couldn’t make up their fucking minds. Then there was the next week when you and Nanami walked the red carpet for his new movie premiere. You were absolutely stunning, at least that’s what your husband and friends told you, but you felt anything but. Being overstimulated by the camera flashes, you let go of Nanami’s arm before you could get overwhelmed, in which he didn’t force you because he was aware of your intentions. Oh, but you were so stupid for that. Constant break-up rumors hit the internet, and that was a hot topic. So much so, Wendy fucking Williams featured you on her show. Humiliated, Nanami decided you should stay home for a while to let things cool off, and of course, you couldn’t listen.
How could I ever live in another? This is where I want to be.
You walk towards the kitchen, grabbing a drink of water to decompress as Rob and the other escorts work on closing every curtain in the house. Nanami, obviously furious, walks to the living room, grabbing the TV remote. He turns it onto TMZ, where they’re talking about you out for lunch at Cecconi’s in West Hollywood earlier today.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I give you one fucking rule, don’t leave the damn house without me!”
“Kento, I-”
“Then, not only do you leave without me, you leave without an escort. Anything could’ve happened to you!”
The next clip shows you throwing your middle finger up to an undercover paparazzi taking pictures of you while you were eating, causing Nanami to begin pacing about the living room.
“And that, what the fuck is that? You’re practically begging to get bombarded with negative articles.”
You fix your face into a fit and walk up to Nanami in the living room, slamming your things down on the table, you two yelling at this point.
“Negative articles, that’s what you’re worried about? Excuse me, MR. BIG TIME MOVIE STAR, I didn’t mean to go outside to take a breather and spend time with myself. ALONE. ”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. I could care less about what they say about me, I’m trying to protect you! Every fucking thing I’ve done has been to protect you!”
“I’m tired of this shit, what did you want me to do? Smile for the fucking picture while I chow down on my fucking ravioli?”
Nanami sighs and wipes his hand down his face, walking up to you and grabbing your hands in his.
“You know what? I’m tired of this shit too. Trust me when I say I love you, but I can’t have you going through this constantly. We should get a divorce.”
At that moment, you felt your entire world crashing. Your house began falling apart brick by brick, the curtains were burning, and the floor was crumbling. You throw his hands out of yours, pacing back and forth with your hands in your hair. Long story short, you were losing your shit.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. It’s the only way-”
You know that there won't be a high wall I can’t climb and find the things that I find.
“Kento, you’re not serious. You’re not fucking serious right now. Is it because I didn’t listen to you? I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve stayed put and waited for you or Rob to take me out.”
“It’s not that simple. You’ve been harassed for weeks on end, just for fucking breathing at this point. I can’t keep seeing you hurt.”
“I can go back to Bel Air and hide out there again. I’ll stay there as long as you need me to!”
“So they can follow you there? And then what, hm? We have to move you all over again? No, we get a divorce and then my fans and the media will leave you alone.”
“But, baby, I, just please…”
“I’M NOT ARGUING WITH YOU ANYMORE. Start packing your things and Rob and the others will help you move them out. I’ll get you an apartment in Soho, but you’ll have to wear a disguise for a while. I won’t be seeing you anymore, it’s for your own good. ”
I'll have to leave them where they are, I don't want to go far.
And with that, you begin to cry. Grabbing your purse off the table, you wipe away your tears and run towards the grand staircase, throwing your MACH & MACH heels over the balcony. Nanami hears the sound of your heels hitting the floor, rushing to the lower landing to ensure your well-being, only to be met with your clothes being thrown over the balcony at him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Throwing all of the shit you bought for me out! Keep all of this shit, I don’t want it anymore.”
“Oh, don’t be such a goddamn cunt about this. You know I fucking love you.”
You stand at the top of the balcony, looking him in his eyes as you throw your rolex over the edge, diamonds scattering all over the floor below.
“Fuck you.”
A tear-stained pillow doesn't seem to help me, I can't make you change your mind.
You begin to grab your cosmetics out of the master bathroom, frustratedly dropping toothpaste and lotion bottles amidst your tirade. You run back into your separate closet, scouring the shelves for a bag big enough to hold your clothes, but alas, you realize your efforts were in vain when all you find are your Birkins. Pacing about the room, looking for the clothes you had before you met Nanami. Then you remember, you have your Goyard duffle in his closet, which as much as you hated it, you were gonna have to use. Walking across the hall, you see Nanami coming up midway on the staircase. You chuckle a bit, running to the closet to grab the duffle before he can stop you. Unfortunately for you, when you turn around to exit the room, Nanami stands in the doorway.
I look through my window and I see all I want to, how can I leave it all behind me now?
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You push by him, pissing him off even further. You’re walking back to your closet now, Nanami closely behind.
“What do you mean, Kento? I’m packing my things.”
“No, you’re going on a rampage!”
As you walk into the master bedroom again, you get a glimpse of the backyard through the window, memories of you and Nanami dancing on the patio together and friends coming over for discrete cookouts. And now here you are, leaving it all because he was picking his fans over his wife.
I've done all I can do, I want to stay here.
“A rampage? Bitch, I can show you a rampage.”
With that, you walk back into your closet, throwing clothes off hangers as he stands in the doorway, scorching with anger. Every piece of clothing you throw, Nanami picks up and places in a pile on the bed, presumably to organize later. In revolt, you walk out into the bedroom, throwing them back on the floor again.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“The fuck am I doing? You mean, the fuck are YOU doing?”
This could be my home forever, but you say I can't come back ever.
You walk up to Nanami, glaring up at him, considering he was much taller than you (not to mention his bigger frame).
“You tell me you want a divorce, how do you expect me to react? Be a good little wife and kiss your ass, ‘Oh, Kento, I understand.’ Then you must be fucking DELUSIONAL!”
Picking up the clothes from the bed, you begin throwing them at him.
“You ungrateful motherfucker… I BUILT THIS HOUSE, ME! I picked the goddamn floorplan and the furniture and everything? Who do you think manages things around here when…you’re off shooting another movie…or screenwriting another TV show? Me, you asshole! You get to come home and relax after working, and what do I get?... Harassed by your…fucking…fans…because you’re too scared…to tell them to FUCK OFF!”
You don't know just how much I wish I could stay in this house forever…
In a swift motion, Nanami comes over to where you’re standing on the other side of the room, grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you roughly. At first, you try to push him off, but eventually, you give in. You know you can’t resist him, not when he’s kissing you like he’s gonna eat you alive. He quickly brings his hands up to lift your legs off the floor, wrapping them around his waist as he drops you on the bed, much too frustrated to be gentle with you. And that’s where the love bites come in, licking and sucking at your neck like some kind of animal and it just feels so good. Especially when he brings his hand up to your tits, pulling your shirt down to release your breasts, expeditiously putting one in his mouth, rubbing your nipple between his tongue and teeth. You push him back, leaving him in an upright position where he has the perfect view of you. Frantically, you begin making work of his button-up, and when you get caught on the top button, he rips his damn shirt off. But who cares right? What’s another $300 shirt? He makes it quick when he pulls your shirt off of you, then your shorts, and finally, flips you onto your stomach so he can unstrap your bra. His lips are back on you now, licking and sucking his way down your back, breathing down your spine as you let out soft moans into the pillow. He stops at your panties, bringing the fabric of your thong between his teeth as he brings his fingers up to hook under the strap. He rips them off, which was the least of your concerns, especially when your husband is lifting your lower body up so that you’re on your knees.
…I don't want to ever leave.
Nanami pulls you closer to him, hooking his arms under your legs to bring you close to his face. And then, well, he goes to town. His tongue starts to pump in and out of your pussy, hearing the mewls and squeals you’re trying to hide in the pillow. He pulls his tongue away, watching you squirm and whimper for it to come back.
“Stop moaning in to the pillow, I wanna hear you, baby.”
“Oh, I thought I wasn’t your ‘baby’ anymore?”
He’s angry, bringing his face down to eat you again, and he’s fucking amazing at it, making you feel like a virgin with how fast your orgasm was coming. He’s got your clit now, sucking at the bud like there’s no tomorrow. And you’re a mess, moaning his name into the air and gripping your fingers into the bedding. Nanami bring his hands up over your legs to massage your ass, gripping and slapping the skin and he swears he’s fallen in love with you all over again.
You’re nearly at the end now, that fire burning inside you and Nanami’s tongue being the damn gasoline. Sure, you were still mad at him, but currently, all you could think about was the way he was fucking his tongue into you, lapping your juices up happily, dedicated to making you cum on his face. And that’s exactly what you did. As your body began to jerk, he brought your pussy closer to his face, so close that it was suffocating him, but who cares if he couldn’t breathe? His pretty little wife was cumming so lovely on his lips, to which he drank up, fully indulging your essence. As you were coming down, your body turned to mush and you sank into the bed, but that didn’t stop Nanami from continuing.
“Ken, I can’t…”
“I know you can, pretty girl. Give me one more.”
How could I ever live in another?
Overstimulated and spent, you come down from your second orgasm, but you knew Nanami wasn’t done with you. He quickly pulled you to the end of the bed, pumping his fingers inside you to prepare you for his dick, which he was pulling out of his pants. Your mind was still fuzzy, because you hadn’t even heard his belt fall to the floor, or his pants, or his boxers, or his watch, or his chain. Well, you woke up pretty damn fast when you felt him slowly sink into you. You swear you died in that moment, drowning in lust as Nanami parted your pussy like the red sea. But now, he was teasing you, moving his hips at a terribly slow pace, and to be frank, it was pissing you off.
“Kento…”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Please, just fuck me already!”
“If you insist, dear.”
You’re beginning to wish you hadn’t said that. Nanami started fucking you at a dangerous pace, bouncing you back onto his dick just to slam his hips back into you again. His hands were on your hips now, fucking you deeper and harder, making you moan gibberish into the air. He brings a hand up to slap your ass, reveling in the sound of it smacking against his stomach. He laughs a bit as you moan with every slap.
“Look at you, such a brat earlier, and now you’re falling apart on my dick.”
“Fuck you.”
“Trust me I am.”
Immediately, Nanami halts, pulling up your upper half, his hand gripping your shoulder as he begins fucking the shit out of you. If you thought you were going mad before, it was definitely happening now. All you can say is his name as he drills his dick into you, hand around your throat as he makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. You can tell he’s close from the way he’s panting and moving at a more rhythmic pace. He lets your shoulder go slowly, bringing your body back down to meet the sheets. One hand on your side and the other gripping the bed, he lowers down to your face, sucking on your neck as he fucks into you deep and slow. His face is nuzzling in your neck and hair, taking in your scent as he hears you moan and groan at the pace of his hips. You’re so close and Nanami knows too, that’s why he’s fucking that spot in you that has you throwing your head back and losing yourself on his dick.
“C’mon baby, give it to me. I wanna feel you cum for me.”
That was it for you, body spasming from your third orgasm. You ride it out as you feel Nanami fill you up, groaning and whimpering your name into your ear, sucking the skin there and panting.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl. My pretty little wife.”
This is where I want to be.
Nanami falls to your side, groaning sadly as he pulls his dick out of you. Both of you stare at the ceiling now, panting like you ran a marathon. He looks over at you and then gets up to go to the bathroom, you hear him organizing something as you remember you pretty much moved like a tornado in the bathroom trying to pack your things. Shortly, he come out with a washcloth in hand, cleaning you up while you squirm from overstimulation. He cleans himself and throws it into the hamper in the bathroom, walking back to you on the bed and lays down. He pulls his arm around you and you can’t bring yourself to take it off of you.
“I’m gonna get you more security and tint the windows on the Ghost, the Aventador too. We should probably get you therapy too for all the stress and anxiety this has given you. I’ll have Alexandra fix your things back in the closet and I’ll take you to replace the damaged items. I’m gonna talk to my manager and see if he can organize paying some of the snappers to fuck off, I’ll be going on to my socials to tell my fans to relax. Can’t keep fucking with my girl.”
As he kisses your forehead, you feel yourself exhausted, lying on Nanami’s chest as you fall asleep. He nuzzles his face in your hair, holding your hand and rubbing his finger against the 4-carat diamond ring that adorned it. There’s no way he could leave his pretty little wife.
You know that I don't want to go.
♱ the song used in this story is 10 james orr street by strawberry switchblade. 🖤
