#dad nanami

Ever since you were a little kid, you looooved eating.

And it's not like your parents teaching you to try everything at least once helped as you ended up growing up to be a foodie with no pickiness when it comes to eating at all.

Enter Nanami who you met at 21, just a year from graduating college, at one of the new local bakeries which you had just discovered recently back then.

He was all crisp button downs, dark blue slacks, cuffed sleeves, messenger bag slung over his shoulder—a walking portrait of what you just wished you would be waking up to in less than 10 years.

You didn't expect to run into him any more times after you'd seen him at the pastry shop ever again, he's one of those sights you only see once in your life.

Well, you were very wrong.

That same week, same time, three days later when you went back for a pick me up, he was there. Picking up the same order you noticed he got last time, and somehow looking finer than Monday did him justice.

Just out of curiosity, you asked for the same sandwich he got—a French Casse-croûte—fresh ham and cheese hidden in a crisp baguette baked early in the morning.

So simple, yet so heavenly. Though, you underestimated your stomach's capacity of hosting the large sandwich and... Had a little food baby pressing against the linen cloth of your yellow sundress.

Nanami noticed you had purchased and consumed the same sandwich he had—though not a social person at all, he found himself walking over to your table and making small talk.

“I’m impressed you finished it.” He had commented, you were wiping remaining crumbs from the corners of your mouth when his voice startled you.

Immediately you had flushed a deep shade of beetroot, suddenly feeling way too conscious about your dress being a tad bit tighter around the waist, the hair sticking to your neck and the fire burning the apples of your cheeks.

Because he was there talking to you when not even three days ago you were daydreaming about the handsome stranger you’d seen—the epitome of your type if you had one.

Grounding yourself surprisingly quickly, you had sheepishly smiled when replying “Oh it sure was a challenge..”, in a shy mutter.

Then, you realised how greedy you sounded and immediately stirred to fix your words up.

“I mean—I, uh, I was just really hungry you know? At work-” you began rambling, hoping to save face in front of perfectly gelled back hair and sculptured cheekbones that had women’s knees weak for days.

but Nanami broke out in a soft chuckle he hadn’t realised he needed until a pretty stranger pulled one out of him.

He left you with his business card and called one day later like he promised.

Fast forward five years later, you still have the now-outdated business card neatly kept in your bedside table along with your husband’s initial draft for your wedding vows which you found more authentic than the version he ended up reading to the audience on your special day—heartwarming and emotional nonetheless.

Living with Kento has taught you a slow world you never thought existed within all of the noise and chaos.

Every page from a book is turned slowly, every step of the day is calculated with no effort—just routine, every hour with your husband is priceless.

And you didn’t imagine this side of life existed. Where every human sentiment somehow was deeper and stronger when it was shared with your person.

Living within Nanami’s comfort zone is learning that his routine bends to you, and eventually incorporates your life into his.

It’s learning that he loves waking up with the sheets tangled between your legs, one of his hands buried in your hair as your face is pressed against his bare chest.

That he adores pressing reverent kisses to your neck, forehead, palm, temple. With a burning gaze that says more than any verbal statement ever could.

However, you learn that your husband relishes in afteroon reading with you snugly tucked by his side on the loveseat in your makeshift library corner, more than the normal person does.

Which is exactly where you are, pressed against his side, head on his shoulder, half of your brain paying attention to the words on the page he’s reading, the other half dipping into a dangerous side as you feel his warmth spread over you.

You’re insatiable, just hours ago Kento cooked you a full-course meal because you woke up “feeling empty” not really knowing what is wrong with you and thinking that just a hearty meal will do.

Creamy alfredo pasta did not in fact solve your issue. Now, once again with an empty stomach, you hold in the urge to open your mouth and disturb your husband’s reading.

Just what were you even going to complain about? It’s not like you were hungry.

And then it clicks.

Slowly, the corners of your lips gently pull upward as your fingers trace up his torso, feeling the dip of his hard abs, the rough lines of scars underneath his breathable pijama shirt.

God he is a sight for sore eyes.

The cogs turn in your head as you start to wriggle your way out from underneath his muscular arm draped over your figure, which was holding you close to him, palm on your hip.

His head turns from the book balanced between his fingers, eyes zeroing on your shifting figure that was slowly crawling over his bulky legs.

An eyebrow of his subtly lifts subconsciously as he carefully watches your every moment. The book in his hand lowers and closes—page forgotten, bookmark nowhere to be seen—as you sit yourself on his lap facing him, knees digging into the soft leather of the loveseat.

Using your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself, you slightly fight back a smirk when you feel Kento's hands find their place on your waist almost instantly after you get comfortable.

This position is no stranger to either of you—which is why Nanami puts the pieces of the puzzle together quicker than anyone else could. So this is what you meant when you said you felt empty?

It makes even more sense when he remembers that a few days ago your period tracker said you would be ovulating soon. Absentmindedly, his fingers trace gentle figures on your hips where his hands have lowered to.

You peer down at him, swimming in his alluring hazel eyes full of an unspeakable kind of love—feeling yourself melt into him.

He breaks the silence, "What is it, darling?" Even though he knows the clear answer, he asks.

Drawing closer to him, your head dips past his chin and you go to press a light kiss to his throat, feeling him swallow when you do. The familiar shape of him starts to grow beneath you.

Again, you feel pride creep up your spine, but you push it down and kiss the side of his neck—itching closer to his collarbone with each kiss peppered. You hear his breath lose it's steadyness little by little.

After a bit of teasing, you finally answer with a shrug "I feel..weird.” Letting a defeated sigh slip past your lips as they press up and at the peak of his right cheekbone.

“Weird?” He chokes out. “What do you mean by weird, honey?”

You hum as you shift over him, deliberately circling letters over his lap and dragging your thinly covered warmth against him.

“I guess I feel kind of.. empty.” The sultry tone in which your voice has dropped to makes blood rush at an embarrassing speed to Nanami’s cock—stiffening like a teenager underneath you.

“Yeah?” He hums.

You bite your lips, tongue then tracing your canines as you run your hands over his broad chest.

“Yeah.”

“I can do something about that.” His hand curves around your ass, firmly grabbing onto the skin—not enough to hurt, enough to have you dripping even more.

Your eyes lift to his face—clean,shaved, no hair to see, pink lips, drooping eyes. “You can?” You muse.

He smiles, a smirk he tried to suppress knowing what you’re going to ask for next.

“Like what?”

And before your question can even land, he gets up. Two hands under your thighs, effortlessly carrying your body.

Carefully, he turns and lays you down on the loveseat. Bracing his broad frame by the armrests—face dangerously close to yours.

Noses brushing, musk and manliness oozing out of him so much your legs close and you can feel yourself pulsing down there.

The roles are reversed and you are so whipped for your husband it’s not even funny anymore. How he has completely turned the tables.

A pin drops somewhere and Kento’s lips gently latch onto yours. Warmth and love exploding in your chest. Neediness clawing at you as your hands wrap around his shoulder’s.

He kisses like you’re a forbidden fruit he can’t resist tasting—happily accepting his sin. Basking in it when a swipe of his tongue under your lips opens a whole world he knows at the back of his hand.

You feel him exploring you—one hand running up your thigh—pressing a thumb against the wet material of your panties.

A moan from you vibrates against his lips. He detaches to hear more as his fingers slip past the lace and dive right into you.

The needy whine that escapes you has him thanking the gods for your paths crossing—for the universe giving him such a good wife.

His mind starts to run wild at the thought of what he’s going to do to you.

Thought he would never push or admit it. Nanami has found himself getting turned on way too often lately at the sight of you bloated, belly full of food after a hearty meal.

At the beginning of your relationship, he tried to ignore the sight—figuring you’d get insecure or uncomfortable if he looked at it for too long.

But he’s been having a hard time not relishing in your well-fed shape.

He’d never admit he cooks more food than usual lately to see you drape your hand under the protruding curve and huff out like you’re in pain from eating so much.

Because the sight of you so full drives him insane.

So insane the thought of using a condom doesn’t even cross his mind when you have sex. It doesn’t help that you have no intention of reminding him.

What would you look like if you were full of him?

His child.

A walking testament of him feeding you well.

A sharp moan snaps him out of his thoughts and he kneels down, taking his slicked fingers from your pussy and spreading your legs wide in front of him.

You’re blushing like crazy. Heat crawling up your spine, bundling up at your neck and cheeks—he’s barely even touched you.

Nanami’s big hands slide under your legs, hooking onto the thin material that has snapped back in place and pulling it off.

His face comes closer to your pussy subconsciously—body begging for a taste before his mind can even catch up.

And he dives in, hands hooked on your thighs, pulling you down the seat and closer to his face so he can lick up your slicked lips.

You become putty in his hands, back already arching off the seat. He sucks and sucks, greets with open mouth kisses—desperately devours like it’s his first time on earth.

Nose casually nudging your entrance, making your body jerk so violently that you almost cry at the blissful feeling.

Kento’s tongue slides into your walls, tasting your sweet nectar straight from the source and losing himself in its sweetness.

Your mind starts going blank, babbles of complete nonsense spilling out of your mouth as he jumpstarts your orgasm.

“Honey—don’t stop-please—“

He doesn’t, instead, a finger slips in—unexpectedly, but so welcome one your desperate hole starts clenching around him.

“Shit I’m going to—” You try to tell him the coil in your lower belly is going to snap but it does before you’re finished, coating his tongue, chin and nose in you and only you.

Panting, you try to catch your breath but your husband’s jaw doesn’t put itself to rest as he continues to lap up every drop of your juices over your sensitive clit.

Back arching off the loveseat, high-pitched moans rip from your chest from the overstimulation.

“Kento—” You whine.

He pulls back silent, shiny chin and drowsy eyes looking up at you from his position—a sinful picture that has heat pooling in between your legs again.

“Yes, sweetheart?” The urge to ride his face when his deep voice calls out to you with those nicknames is immense, but you want him.

“Inside—please go-”

“Your words, darling, use them.” Your hands find his forearm rested over your spread thigh and you dig your fingernails into them.

“Ken, please—please fuck me.”

A frown overtakes his face, lips disapprovingly pulling down into a pityful pout.

“I’m not going to fuck you, honey. I’ve already told you that.”

And it’s true, Nanami does not fuck. He is a stranger to the act of using someone as a tool for him to get off, belittle them into a good fuck or a bad one.

He loves.

And he loves you so much.

“Love me, Ken.”

A small smirk breaks out.

You have him.

He climbs over you, heavy—muscular thighs barely fitting between your spread out legs where he presses his clothed hard-on against your slit.

From the sensitivity, you almost moan against him.

His lips latch onto yours again, hungrily yet deliberately finding their way down your throat—making you taste your remains on his tongue.

Your hands travel down to the hem of his thin cotton sweatpants and hook your fingers both onto that seam, and his boxer’s waistband.

Simultaneously, the two layers that were between the both of you drop to the floor. Thick 7,5 inches to match his 6 feet of height.

Girthy, one prominent vein leading to the shaft and bringing your eyes to his dusty blonde happy trail.

Sculpted v-line that has you going feral for days.

Gosh, you really love your husband in all of his glory.

Wrapping your hand—and barely being able to fully grasp it—around him, you stroke a few times before rubbing him against your bare pussy.

A shock of electricity shooting up your spine at the feeling of his precum mixing with your slick. Nanami groans against your lips before delicately pulling your hand away and taking over.

Already nudging at the entrance has you biting down his soft lips to hold back a moan.

The tip slips inside after some coaxing, your fingernails dig into his shoulder’s for stability, legs shaking due to the pressure.

Kento tries to tether you, “That’s it, love. Relax, I got you.”

And he really does.

He pulls away from your lips every time he pushes himself a bit more inside, carefully watching your face—searching for any sign of pain or backing out.

Not once do you display any, so he bottoms out. Balls pressing against the soft skin of your ass over the expensive leather.

While you adjust, still inside, he rearranges both of your legs to rest over his shoulders as he hunches and looms over you.

Slowly, he starts moving. The deliberate drags of his cock between your velvety walls tattoo themselves into your gummy brain.

Eyes fluttering—opening and closing from pleasure, you feel yourself start to ascend to that personal heaven he always takes you to.

You clench around his size, unable to relax but enjoying the burn so much.

A hand of yours claws at his shirt, trying to bring him closer, harder. He wastes no time in delivering his sweet wifes request.

One thrust and you feel him in your throat, pale pink tip pushing past your cervix—probably going to bruise it later on.

But you love it.

And he continues. In and out, back and forth. A frothy creamy ring building at the base where your bodies meet.

He sees the bulge of him in your stomach, the imprint of his cock peeking through and his mind goes haywire.

The image of your protruding stomach after a meal, the idea of you leaking with his cum running down your thighs, the thought of a little baby with your genetics growing inside of your swollen belly.

Nanami’s control breaks with a hard snap.

His hips slow down, gently stroking your insides now. No longer pulling you apart. But he shifts, lowers his chest down, teeth finding your nipples and cock angled at a new direction.

You try to focus on what he’s doing still. Then the controlled thrust comes—slow, but so deep you know this is how he can get a baby in you.

Now, you feel full.

And you can only hope he leaves you this way.

“Mmh-Kento?”

He detaches his head from your tit. “Yes, sweetie?”

His cock slides out your pussy until only the very tip of it is inside before he rams himself home again.

“Oh my go—” you get cut off from your vision going blank at the pleasure. “—Kento, stay- inside.”

You clench around him, not wanting him to leave.

“Oh?” He knows what you want. He’s your husband after all. Doting, careful.

“Please.” You breathe out, pleading, clawing at his back under his shirt. His pace picks up just enough to be rhythmic but intimate.

“You want me to fill you up?”

Not even a beat goes by before you whimper. “Yesyesyes.”

So he stays inside. He finds your clit with thick fingers, gives her enough attention for you to get on cloud 9.

Slams into you till you spasm around his cock and then fills you up. Paints your insides with him.

And suddenly, you no longer feel empty.

But maybe you need a few more rounds to ensure you will be full of him for some time.

At 9 months pregnant though, you desperately need to feel empty. The weight of your son making you feel like an overfilled dumpling about to pop.

Your husband has his large hands that got you in this position in the first place on your lower back, applying pressure and massaging your aching hips while you hunch over the edge of the hospital bed as your lower half bounces on a gym ball.

“Ken, I curse you and your heavy baby.”

He doesn’t know if he should laugh or comfort you. No, he’s not vexed at all by you cursing him—he knows how his heavy son has been giving you a hard time in your first pregnancy so he’s not going to deny he is the cause of it.

In the end, he chooses the latter. “Just a bit more, honey. You’re strong, he’ll be here in no time.”

“He better be or I’ll strangle you!”

He got his nine months of your stomach poking out from under your clothes, nine months of you looking like a goddess around the house and glowing more than the sun.

Nine months of it driving him crazy how you are swollen with him.

Who knew his wife being a foodie would turn him on so much…

Anyway,

Nanami Kento is right where he wants to be.

youre already on the couch, your legs tucked under you, watching your daughter play on the carpet. every so often you reach out and brush your fingers through her hair, smoothing it down the way she likes, and she giggles like its the best thing in the world.

that night, nanami sits with her on his lap, his fame softened so she can fit comfortably against him. she wiggles a little because shes curious, her tiny hands reaching for the bracelet.

he lets her hold it first, lets her feel the cool metal, her fingers small and clumsy but handling it like its something precious.

he takes it back gently, supporting her wrist with one hand while the other guides the bracelet into place. his movements are careful, like hes handling something fragile. the metal slides over her wrist just right, not too loose and not too tight. it rests there, catching the light.

she watches it happen with wide eyes, and when it settles, she lifts her hand, turning it this way and that way, opening and closing her fingers to see how it moves. shes happy, her face all lit up in that soft way toddlers do.

"like mama" she babbles, cheeks round and happy.

nanami keeps one hand resting lightly on her back the whole time, steady and grounding, watching the tiny smile that appears when she realizes the bracelet is hers.

"like mama," he echoes, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

he smooths a thumb over the fabric of her sleeve, protective and quiet. its his little gift to his baby.

you smile from where youre sat next to him, small and warm, and reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from your daughters face. she grins at you, then at him, turning her wrist this way and that like she’s discovering something wonderful.

when she finally settles, you lean in and press a soft kiss to nanamis cheek. he glances at you, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, lips brushing over your hairline in a soft kiss.

✦ ╮ 003: He'd discipline his step daughter, whenever she steps out of line. Whether it's overstimulation or bending her down on his knee.

✦ ╮ 004: During a sleepover at your friends house, you run into her dad who's been eyeing you, and you've been eyeing him

✦ ╮ 005: Greeting your step-dad at the door after he comes home from a long day of work.

✦ ╮ 006: Coming home late on a school night? My, what a naughty girl. alt

✦ ╮ 007: He found you playing with yourself in your room. Why not help you a bit.

✦ ╮ 008: This usually happens when he's the one picking you up from school.

✦ ╮ 009: The kids have gone to school, and he doesn't have work this morning. Oh, he's not wasting any time.

✦ ╮ 010: You try to to stay silent in the bathroom while your step dad, fucks you after accidentally walking in on you

✦ ╮ 011: Stepdad sneaks into your room and returns your panties.

✦ ╮ 012: In the morning before the kids wake up

rezitio. Urhm I have a nanami story so let's home that releases soon. Happy new year!

"i'm not grumpy!" the middle child protested, her cheeks puffing out indignantly.

"you're making your grumpy face right now," the eldest pointed out matter-of-factly.

nanami caught his your eye from across the kitchen, and you shared one of those silent parental conversations that needed no words. you grinned at him, and he felt his chest warm in that way it always did when he looked at his family—his girls, his whole world contained in this modest kitchen on a lazy weekend morning.

"alright, team nanami," he said, clapping his hands together once and causing a small cloud of flour to poof into the air. "we have a mission. operation: birthday pancakes for mama. hana, you're in charge of chocolate chips. akari, you're my measuring specialist. and yuki—"

"yuki!" the toddler squealed, reaching her chubby hands toward her father.

"yuki is our official taste tester." nanami finished, moving to take his youngest daughter from his wife's arms. yuki immediately grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together. "and our morale officer, apparently."

you laughed again, that bright sound that still made his heart skip even after all these years. "i'm supposed to be the birthday girl. i should be getting pampered, not watching you all make a mess of my kitchen."

"our kitchen," nanami corrected gently, settling yuki on his hip. "and you are being pampered. you're being relieved of cooking duty. now go sit down before hana stages a mutiny over egg-cracking privileges."

"i heard that!" hana called out.

"you were meant to," nanami replied, deadpan, which made akari dissolve into giggles.

his wife shook her head fondly but obediently made her way to the table, sitting down next to akari. "okay, okay. i'll supervise from here. but if you burn my pancakes, kento—"

"i have never burned a pancake in my life," he said with mock offense.

"there was that one time—" she started.

"we agreed never to speak of that incident," nanami interrupted quickly, pointing the spatula at her in warning. "that was a faulty stove and you know it."

akari looked up from her measuring cups, eyes bright with curiosity. "what incident?"

"nothing," both of you said in unison, which only made their daughter more suspicious.

"grown-up stuff," nanami added, which was his standard response when he didn't want to explain something.

"that's what you always say," akari grumbled, but she went back to her measuring with a small smile.

hana had climbed down from the counter and was now very seriously counting out chocolate chips into a small bowl, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. "one for the bowl, one for me," she whispered to herself, clearly thinking no one could hear her.

"hana," nanami said without even turning around, "the chocolate chips go in the bowl. all of them."

"i-i'm quality testing!" hana defended immediately.

"you're quality eating," akari corrected.

"same thing!”

nanami mixed the batter with smooth, practiced movements, yuki still balanced on his hip. his youngest daughter had her head resting on his shoulder now, her tiny fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. these were the moments he'd never thought he'd have—the quiet, chaotic, perfect moments that made every difficult day worth it.

"papa," akari said softly, appearing at his elbow. "is this enough sugar?"

he looked down at the measuring cup she held up. "that's perfect, sweetheart. pour it in slowly, okay?"

she nodded seriously and carefully tipped the sugar into the bowl. nanami adjusted his hold on yuki and continued mixing, feeling the weight of his daughter, the warmth of his kitchen, the sound of his wife humming softly at the table. this was wealth, he thought. this was everything.

"kento," you called, "you're getting sentimental again. i can see it on your face. you’re not slick.”

"i'm concentrating on pancakes," he lied.

"you're thinking about how much you love us," you cooed, teasing him.

"papa's always thinking that," hana announced, arriving with her bowl of chocolate chips—noticeably less full than when she'd started. "he gets all soft and squishy."

"i do not get soft and squishy," nanami protested, though his daughters' giggles suggested otherwise.

"you do, papa," akari agreed, patting his arm sympathetically. "it's okay. we think it niceee."

he sighed in defeat, but he was smiling. "traitors. all of you."

"you love us anyway," you said, her eyes twinkling.

"unfortunately," he replied, but his tone was so warm that everyone knew he meant the opposite.

the pancakes came together (surprisingly) well after that. nanami poured the batter onto the griddle in perfect circles while akari stood on her step stool beside him, carefully placing chocolate chips into each one to make smiley faces. hana was in charge of announcing when bubbles appeared on the surface, which she did with great enthusiasm and volume.

"bubbles! bubbles, papa! flip it!"

"i see them, hana. thank you for your vigilance."

"what's vigilance?"

"i dunno. papa use big words to confuse us," akari said, peering over at the stove to look at the pancakes.

"oh. i think it’s good. i think i have lots of vigilance.”

yuki had been transferred back to your lap and was now making a beautiful attempt to eat a piece of banana, getting more of it on her face than in her mouth. you were watching the cooking process with obvious amusement, occasionally wiping yuki's face with a cloth.

"you know," you said thoughtfully, "i think this might be the best birthday morning i've ever had."

nanami glanced over his shoulder at her, spatula in hand. "we haven't even eaten yet. the pancakes could be terrible."

"they won't be," she said with complete confidence. "and even if they were, it wouldn't matter. this—" she gestured around the kitchen, at their daughters, at him, "—this is perfect."

“except you dirtying my kitchen. it matters a lot to me.”

“i don’t dirty our kitchen. i always clean it afterward.”

though, nanami couldnt lie, he felt that tightness in his chest again, that overwhelming feeling of gratitude that sometimes hit him out of nowhere. he'd spent so many years thinking he'd never have this kind of life, never have this kind of happiness. and now here he was, in an apron with his daughters, making birthday pancakes.

"papa, you're doing it again," hana stage-whispered.

"doing what?"

"getting all soft and squishy.”

this time he didn't deny it. "maybe i am."

the pancakes were a success by all parties, especially yuki, who managed to get syrup in her hair despite everyone's best efforts. they ate together at their slightly-too-small kitchen table, plates piled high, orange juice in mismatched cups, and the morning sun streaming through the windows.

"these are really good, papa," akari said seriously, cutting her pancake into precise, even pieces.

"yeah!" hana agreed through a mouthful of food. "really, really good!"

"don't talk with your mouth full," nanami corrected automatically, but he was pleased.

you reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "thank you," you said softly. "for this. for them. for everything."

he squeezed back, running his thumb across her knuckles. "happy birthday," he murmured.

"mama, how old are you now?" hana asked curiously.

"that's classified information," you replied with a grin.

"whut classified mean?"

"it means secret, i think," akari explained.

"why is mama's age a secret?"

"because," you said mysteriously, "a lady never tells."

nanami snorted softly. "you told me last week you were excited to be—"

"kento," she warned, eyes narrowing playfully.

he held up his hands in surrender, fighting back a rare smile.

and goodness, nanami didn’t ever expect himself to be a father of three. much less have four pretty girls he had to take care of daily. but it’s not like he’d wish for anything less.