rush hr ⭑.ᐟ
⋆ ꩜ ⋆ pairing: coworker husband!nanami x reader
wc: 1210+ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚
a/n: attempt at a ficlet/drabble whatever 🙌 first spark of non angst inspo in a week, i love husband nanami i'm gonna scream
Your bed somehow always feels warmer on the days where you actually have important things to do, it’s almost infuriating.
The first thing you register on rising out of hours of unconsciousness is warmth and the weight of corded muscles against your frame without much separation. You’d somehow gotten tangled up with your husband again in your sleep despite him running far hotter than you do – great.
Against your current wishes to sink back into sweet slumber, you crack an eye open, head tilting to glance back at a half dressed Nanami. Already in his dress pants and undershirt (cheater). Thick arms remain banded around your waist under the covers, fingers rubbing the lightest circles into your stomach. He’s clearly not in much of a rush to move, chin propped up on your head watching the food channel. Which is funny, considering you both should’ve been up fifteen minutes ago.
“Kento,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
"Eight thirty," he says, without looking down, hands sweeping lightly up and down your midsection in soothing motions, “We’ll be late if you don’t get up now.”
And his tone is so casual, as though you don’t have to be at work for 9:10 at the latest inclusive of the 10 minute grace period.
You groan and try to bury yourself back into the pillow, tugging the covers closer to your body, “Five more minutes.”
“See, I’d allow it if this wasn’t the second time you’ve asked for an extra five minutes in the last half hour.”
You breath out a low groan, rolling to face him properly, “Mm..” In your defense, he tucks you closer like you’re meant to be there almost immediately, how are you supposed to want to leave bed when he’s doing all of that? “I meant fifteen more minutes the last time. I may have misspoken.”
He hums as though he understands where you’re coming from, fingers playing in your hair and massaging your scalp, thumbs circling over your temples with the lightest pressure. It’s dangerously easy to stay like this.
He barely looks away from his little cooking show too, seemingly allowing this extra five minutes as though the two of you aren’t meant to be getting ready now. The sheets shift as he dips to press a kiss to the side of your head, warmth lost as he slides away from you and out of bed. “5 more minutes. Then I’m waking you up.” You hum your acceptance, already half asleep and waving him off, curling into the warm spot he’d left.
⊹.✮₊⋆
“C’mon, Nanami. Time to get up.” It feels like a only 2 minutes have passed when Kento’s back bugging you, large hands sliding under where you’re rolled in the covers to hoist you up like a burrito, ivory sheets still around your frame. “Kento..” You groan, cracking an eye at him, brows knitted at the center. “Why are you kidnapping me? Hasn’t even five minutes yet.”
“Wrong, it’s been six. I made you coffee.” You hum, eyes still shut, turning your face into shirt covered shoulder. The sheet falls a little loose on your frame when he sets you down on the barstool up against the counter, free hand sliding a steaming cup in your direction. “You looked too pretty sleeping, I gave you an extra minute out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Mm, thank you husband. Ever the generous being.” You take a long sip out of the steaming cup – 2 sugars and a splash of creamer like you always take it. You glance over to the clock fixed on the wall just as it changes to 8:39 “Shit. I should’ve gotten out of bed the first time.”
He laughs that time, low and rich, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I thought this would happen, so I set out your clothes last night. Lunch is already packed.”
You glance up at him over the rim of the mug as you take another long sip, heart stupidly full. Of course he’d go and prep your outfit and lunch for you, it’s so like him. “You’re just the sweetest, aren’t you? I could marry you right now.”
He’s already shrugging his blazer on, leaning down to your height to drop yet another kiss on you – right at the top of your head this time, “Already did. Your suit’s over the chair in the bedroom, lunch is in the fridge. Go get ready.”
⊹.✮₊⋆
The next ten minutes feel like the shortest ten minutes of your life – you’d showered in the early morning after rolling about in the sheets with him, so you don’t feel too icky taking a shorter shower. Your hair isn’t much to deal with, pulling off the layer of silk keeping it protected, merely needing to fix some stray strands. Brushing your teeth so you don’t have bad breath? Check. Makeup? Check, even if it’s a bit rushed. Not having to pick out an outfit makes things so much easier, slipping into your suit suspiciously close in colour to Nanami’s. You barely have time to question it, already being walked out the door with a hand low on your back and both your lunch bags in your hold.
By some miracle (aka, Nanami going just a little above the speed limit) you both make it to the office with three minutes to spare.
He’s already expected for a meeting at the beginning of the workday, the elevator ride being the last you’d see of him for a bit you guess. His hands straighten out your collars and lapels like he can’t help it on the way up, brushing your hair out of your face.
You’d barely gone your separate ways before you’re pulling your phone out to shoot him a text.
[you]
9:02 am
Dearest husband, did you match our outfits on purpose?
[kento kento 🥸]
9:03 am
Did I?
I labeled the bowls in the kit. Hopefully the interns don’t steal it this time.
As if labels would stop someone’s will to steal. The effort is appreciated though.
[you]
9:03 am
How scandalous. What will the workers think of the VP matching with his worker?
[kento kento 🥸]
9:04 am
Sweetheart, I doubt they'll notice. They’re technically two different shades of blue, yours is lighter.
Also, I don’t really care. You’re my wife.
So much for no flirting at work. You don't even hide your grinning and internal swooning all the way to your desk from the message alone.
