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seireiteihellbutterfly · 10 months ago

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Secure in your Lap

ft Nanami Kento

a/n: I can't believe I finally wrote thisI So this was inspired by this ask from @sitarawrites. It was supposed to be a cute fluffy fic, but somehow devolved into this angsty piece, so idk. Although I wrote this fic with a desi/asian reader in mind, I think anyone with a difficult relationship with their parents can relate to this, and I hope it comes across that way.

Rating: 13+, nothing explicit or sexual

Warnings: difficult family dynamics, mentions of familial trauma, guilt, manipulation

Pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

Summary: A phone call from reader's mother results in her remembering all the reasons she's grateful for her now fiance.

Word Count: 2343

Nanami masterlist

It’s never a good day when your mother calls. Sometimes you wonder why you put up with it and allow her to test your boundaries, despite setting a schedule that you would not be calling her except for Tuesday and Friday nights.

Even the hour spent on those nights are tedious at best. They never make you feel better; it's all for her. It makes her feel better. And despite the fact that you have graciously made this time for her, she never seems to appreciate it. In fact, most of these conversations are one-sided. You’ll have your headphones in, while she chatters away, as you try to focus on other tasks, like folding laundry, or tidying up the general clutter that always accumulates in the living room, throwing in the occasional ‘uhm hm’ every few minutes so that she knows you’re still on the line.

You’ve learned to tune out most of the conversation because very little of it is ever relevant to you. Unless you hear a few key words such as ‘dad’ or ‘finances’ or ‘house’ you don’t really pay attention to the conversation at all. Because you know how most of these conversations go. They start with her talking about her day, complaining about her job. Then she complains about your dad, despite knowing you’ve heard it all before. Then it devolves into blaming other people for circumstances she’s in right now based on events that happened long ago.

When all of these topics are exhausted, she gets to her juiciest arsenal; you. Oh, the things she has to say about you, about how you were such a wonderful child, sweet and obedient and how you suddenly became this rough woman who she doesn’t know how to talk to anymore. Or how you’ve stopped visiting of late, that you’re never home for the holidays, and that she blames your boyfriend for this. Then it’s criticism of your life choices, starting with how you moved in with your boyfriend while unmarried, the fact that he’s not from the same ethnic background as you, or the fact that she blames your ‘attitude’ on him because he defends you from her each time.

Today it was about how you could do so much better than him, and you finally snap.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

There’s a moment of silence, then with uncontained glee, she says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Well relationships sometimes don’t work out, it’s ok-”

“Because he asked me to marry him.” You finish bluntly, cutting her off. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore because he’s my fiance.” You wait for the bomb to drop.

“Oh.” Your mother’s voice sounds tight, like it’s been stretched taut between pins on a tacking board. “And when did this happen?”

“He proposed last Sunday.”

“And I’m finding out just now. You really must hate me…”

“Don’t do that,” You warn, keeping your voice deadly calm. You knew if you raised it or gave any signs that her words had affected you, it would give her a rush of satisfaction. “Either you’re happy for us or you’re not. Now which is it?”

“Well, it hardly matters now does it? Although I supposed I should be grateful you’re marrying him after all this time. There’s nasty gossip back in our community…so at least you’ve spared me from the embarrassing idea that you wouldn’t marry a man you’ve been living with like an unprincipled woman.”

“How lovely,” you said through gritted teeth. “Be sure to tell the community I have zero fucks to give them as well.”

“Language…I raised such a proper girl, when did you start saying filth like this?”

“I have to go mom. Your behavior will determine if you’re invited to the wedding or not.”

“You are the type to exclude your mother from your own wedding.I’ve known that for years. So it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Anyway, talk to you later…Friday night now?”

She disconnects the call and you sit there in disbelief, heart racing. Every time you stand up for yourself, you know it should feel like a victory but somehow, she manages to even steal that from you. You sigh and rest your head against the back of the car seat.

You had just driven home after a long day’s work and decided that it would be easier to talk to your mom in the car and finish it off since you didn’t want to detract from the peace you feel at home. You feel tears prick the back of your eyes and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.

Why did you let her in on your life? There’s a strange sense of loyalty to her despite her abuse of you. Because despite everything, there are certain things she did which she wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t loved you. Putting you through your degrees, both bachelor’s and master’s. Letting you live at your parent’s house for free when you were in between jobs. Letting you borrow their car to get to job interviews. There’s signs of love there but why did it have to come attached with this emotionally manipulative price tag?

You let yourself cry for a short while, then hold up your left hand to admire the engagement ring your now fiance had picked out. A watery smile breaks out over your face as you look at it. You feel vain when you allow yourself to do this, but you can’t help it. You weren’t really looking at it for it’s monetary value, but more so for what it symbolized; the peace and balance he brought to your life, the maturity your own parents lacked while raising you, and the security that it didn’t matter if you made a bad choice, he’d never make you feel worse about it.

Wiping away your tears, you turn off the car and quickly look at yourself in the mirror. Thankfully your makeup hadn’t smudged much and you could chalk up the tiredness in your eyes as lack of sleep. You take a deep breath before getting out and entering your home. Your fiance was unloading takeout containers from a bag as you entered. He looks up and smiles warmly at you.

“Thought I heard you in the driveway,” he says as he comes over to embrace you, his arms enveloping you with affection. Nanami presses a kiss to your forehead then pulls you in closer, tucking your head under his chin.

You let yourself rest against the warmth of his broad chest, the comfortingly familiar feel of his body relief to the turmoil inside your chest. Resting your cheek on his chest, you close your eyes and breathe in deeply.

“Y/n? Are you all right?”

Nanami always notices. There’s never a single moment when he’s out of touch with your feelings. He’s learned all the lines in your face, the way your different facial muscles contract or relax depending on how you're feeling. He notices the tension in your shoulders, the slight drop in energy in your step as you walk through the door. Nanami always notices.

You slowly shake your head no. The flurry of feelings inside you, the hurt, the disappointment, the inability to cut off your mom for good, the overwhelming feeling of being inadequate, a disappointment, churn inside you to the point that you feel like you may never come out of this cyclone feeling like a winner. It’s so complex that you’re not even sure where to begin or how to put it into words. Your thoughts and feelings tangle like a ball of string, knotting into a mess of strands that are impossible to separate.

“Kento.”

“Yes my love?” His hands run soothingly over your back.

“I need your lap.”

That was all you could say at the moment. The complexity of everything was too much to bear. Over the years his lap has become a safe space for you. A quiet, designated spot where you could feel everything you wanted to, without any judgment.

Nanami nodded wordlessly, gently taking your hand and leading you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you on top of his lap. Your feet wrap around his lower back, wedged between the sofa cushions and his body while your head rests on his chest, listening to his breathing and you try to match yours to his, a calming technique you’ve learned over the years.

His large hands play with your hair, stroking it, cupping the back of your head and gently pressing kisses to your forehead. He’s learned over the years that lap sessions meant you were in a state of distress and that it wasn’t his place to force you to talk. You would talk when you’re ready, if at all.

“Mom?” he asks softly, his voice fluttering through the top of your hair. You merely nod, the thought of explaining it too difficult to even form words. A deep hum of understanding echoes from his chest and you close your eyes at the comforting sound.

Everything about him screamed security. You remember one time breaking a cup while making your morning coffee, the distinct crack of shattering porcelain filling the kitchen. You had flinched, waiting for the tirade of blame and accusations of clumsiness to come at you, only to see Nanami rushing over to you, concern etched all over his face.

“Are you all right? You didn’t get cut?” His words had brought you to tears, that his primary thought had been you and your safety, instead of a very replaceable coffee cup. No one yelling at you for making a mess in the kitchen, or muttering under their breath that you had wasted a usable mug. Nanami had, in a befuddled state, watched as you came to his side, wrapping your arms around him. It wasn’t until 2 weeks after the incident had happened that you had told him what that moment meant to you.

And now here you were, again, allowing your mom to rob you of the happiness you had worked so hard to build. You're amazed at the patience Nanami has with you, at the way he always reassures you, never letting you forget your worth. That you're more than just your parents’ child. That you are a whole human being on your own, that has the right to live your life without their interference.

“I don't think I want my parents at our wedding.” The words fall out of your mouth. There's lingering guilt but deep down, you knew it was for the best.

Nanami adjusts himself on the couch and leans back against the cushions. Most of the time, he leaves handling your parents up to you, despite how much it bothers him that they ruin your mood every time. But there's understanding in his eyes.

“Not even your dad? I thought you wanted him to give you away.”

“My dad’s an enabler. He'll never come if I don't invite my mom. Besides,” you inhale deeply and continue, “The only person worthy of giving me away is myself.” You gaze into his warm brown eyes, feeling proud that you had come this far. This would be your achievement today. That you were able to say these words and believe them.

“That’s so very true sweetheart.” He gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Look at you, remembering your affirmations.”

Although it’s not much, you still feel yourself glowing at his praise. Growth on your end. “Besides, if they got involved, they’d hijack all the planning, blow it up into a grand ceremony even though that’s not what we want. It’s just easier without them.”

“Anything you want.” He brushes his lips against your hair.

“No, not anything I want. It’s your wedding too. I’d be ok if you wanted a ceremony. I imagine there’s lots of people you’d want to invite. I just won’t be inviting anyone from my side. Except for my best friend.”

He grasps your chin between his fingers and with sincerity asks you, “How did you imagine it?”

You consider this for a second. Previously, you had imagined the typical traditional wedding that people of your background were expected to have. But the image has been fading lately, and now, unburdened from your parents’ expectations, your mind immediately creates a picture.

“I want to do it at the beach. Just…no expectations, no one grumbling about how we skimped on decorations or other unnecessary things like flowers. I want…to walk down towards you on the sand, barefoot. Feel the ocean breeze on my face. There’s a small group of guests. Very minimalistic.”

He looks like he’s considering it for a moment but his expression doesn’t show signs of objection. “We could do that. Small wedding, intimate ceremony.”

“Really?” You look at him with love in your eyes.

“Really. I think all the people I want to invite would easily fit into this setting.”

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him tightly. There were simply no words to express how grateful you are for him, for his presence in your life. That you could actually be a family, just the two of you. You lean back to take in all of him, just sitting serenely on the couch, in this shared space the both of you called home now.

“Thank you, Kento.” You say quietly. You know it’s unnecessary, that his love is so very unconditional, no emotional price tags attached. “I know I’m not the easiest to love sometimes.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He draws you tightly to his chest. “It’s so easy to love you. Because every small thing you do is filled with love and consideration. Thoughtfulness. Emotion. And that’s enough. You don’t have to be more than that.”

Your heart swells as you hear his words, the only person to ever really understand just how much you needed to know those things.

“I’m enough.” You whisper softly, still on his lap, resting comfortably in his embrace. You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes closing.

I’m enough…

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