domestic fluff. married couple nanami x fem!reader. ⚠︎ talks of aging, death and grief ⚠︎ suggestive humor and dialogue.
You realize it as he lays his head on your lap and you thread your fingers through his soft, fluffy hair. His strands fade into a lighter shade near the roots, a gradient from gold to gray.
“Oh no,” you sigh. “You're turning into a sexy silver fox.”
“You're graying. Have you noticed?”
“Ah. I never really paid attention. I was more worried about balding.”
“I think I prefer that,” you say lightly, as you glide your fingers through his scalp. “At least I’d have less competition.”
“Competition,” he laughs. “Woman, you're my wife.”
“I know that!” you laugh as well. “But once you’ve gone full gray it's fisticuffs between me and all the GILF-chasers.”
“What is a G—you know what, don't answer that.”
You settle into comfortable silence, alone in the house you've built together. How long has it been since he swept you off your feet and carried you into this life? Time has compressed all of your moments into a montage of routine domestic bliss. In the decades you’ve been married to each other, you've woken up and slept next to him for thousands of nights and days. You've held his hand and kissed his lips, embraced him and made love to him countless times.
And it's ironic, actually, that because of how close and intimately aware you were of each other's bodies, you never noticed those tiny increments of change that come with age.
His eyes flutter shut and your fingers wander towards his face. What else about him has changed? You brush against the faint gray hairs on his brow, the wrinkles around his eyes—lines that converge to his outer corners and curve under the bags of his eyes. You love the way it deepens when he smiles. And maybe that's why you've never seen those wrinkles as a sign of aging. Seeing your husband’s wrinkles is a sign of his joy.
“We're growing old together…” he sighs.
“You said it like it's a bad thing.”
“It's not. It's just a matter of fact. I'm happy that we lasted this long.”
You know that tone in his voice.
“I guess, sometimes, I can't help but question what it really means to grow old with someone,” he says. “Back then I was scared of dying on the job and leaving you alone all of a sudden. But now… what about if I grow ill? Or frail? What if you spend the last years of our marriage washing my ass until I die?”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” you tease. He's never outgrown his tendency to brood, but you've learned how to stop him from indulging in such sad thoughts—a skill you've honed over the years.
Nanami smiles at the way you lightened his mood.
“I just don't want to bother you with all that work then leave you grieving,” he says, holding your hand over his heart. “That's not what you deserve.”
You can't help but smile at his devotion. You raise his hand and nuzzle your cheek against his warm, rough palm. His skin is looser at the back of his hand now, with thick and soft veins running underneath. But the way he has held you stays the same. Gentle and warm. Like laying your head on the sand.
“Grief... Grief is just an echo of love, Kento. That's how we know it was real. And that it was powerful,” you say, reaching down to caress his cheek. “We're spending the rest of our lives together, darling. I wanna feel and experience everything with you. That's what I deserve.”
You lean down, until your soft breaths caress each other’s lips.
“And besides…" you whisper. "I like touching your ass."
Nanami rolls his eyes and shakes his head, though he couldn't help but smile. Then his eyes soften with warmth as he holds his gaze. Perhaps, for the first time, he is seeing the changes in you as well.
And everything about it is beautiful.
“You're the love of my life,” he murmurs.
“And you're mine,” you reply.
You press your lips together, as you did a thousand times. And everything about it feels familiar and right. As if your bodies have found home in each other once again.
He chuckles low against your lips and his joy is infectious. So you lean back and laugh as well.
“It doesn't matter how old we get," he says. "I still feel young whenever we kiss."
You bite your lip and smile and you indulge him once again with your kisses. This time, he parts his lips and lets your tongue slip into his mouth with a deep groan. You pull back, warmed and softened by the taste of him.
“Are you still feeling young down there too?” You ask.
Nanami laughs softly, his eyes turning dark with want.
this is a birthday dedication to one of my dearest friends, who supported and guided me through my every hyperfixation. one day we will grieve each other. but not before we grow old and hot and rich 🥰 like catherine branski.
this is very rushed and i am sorry if the quality is not as good as when i take my time,,, i wanted to reach my friends birthday. please be gentle with me 🙇♀️
