ROW

One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.

But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.

Also about time.

Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.

The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.

In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.

He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-

It was then that the doorbell had rang.

Ba-dump! 

He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—

And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.

“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.

Blinking at the vision of you.

And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.

Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”

“That’s alri-”

But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”

“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.

By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.

Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.

It was hard to not ogle him.

Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”

You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”

“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.

“I mean- please do…”

He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”

A college student!

Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.

He knew you looked young but-

A college student?!

“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.

But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”

Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.

Now.

Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-

“Papa?”

The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.

He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.

Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You followed.

Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?

His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain. 

It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.

He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside. 

But none of that was as important as his son right now.

However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.

The two of them in their lonesome.

His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless. 

But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too? 

Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.

Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.

Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”

“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”

He gasped, “That’s me!”

Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom. 

And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).

He sighed.

A college student!

Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.

Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.

Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.

Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night. 

He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.

Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day. 

Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.

He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.

Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.

Times like this, he allows himself to dream.

You’d make the best wife.

You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.

But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.

“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”

You pause.

“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”

“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”

He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”

It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen. 

He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.

“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.

“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”

“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”

Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”

“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”

Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”

“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”

“Oh.”

“Together together.”

“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”

You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”

He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.

“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!

Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”

Just an inch closer. “I see.”

And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”

He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”

Your lips part-

The clock strikes eleven.

Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”

“Yes, I understand-”

“The brownies were amazing-”

“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.

“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

“And thank you for the brownies!”

The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.

It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed. 

A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.

As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.

“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”

“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”

“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”

His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”

“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”

Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”

Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”

“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…

“Yes, but…”

“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.

“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.

He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.

“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”

“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.” 

Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.

Today wasn’t even a school day.

It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures. 

The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.

How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—

Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?

The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?

But the boy catches the movement and pouts-

“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”

They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t. 

In fact, it was rather pretty. 

The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?

“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”

“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”

And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”

“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.

Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”

“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”

“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”

“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”

One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”

“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”

The light turns green.

And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.

From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.

Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”

“Not playing games!”

And he didn’t think much of it.

Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.

Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]

Lasted three minutes.

How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school. 

A mistake?

How strange, indeed…

But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.

Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.

Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.

By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.

It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.

At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.

His house always seemed smaller then.

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.

All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?

He wonders which category you’d fall into.

That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.

It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.

As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments. 

Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.

Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.

.

.

.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”

Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.

He opens them.

Nope- still real.

“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”

Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day. 

Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!

“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”

He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”

“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”

“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.

“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”

“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.

The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.

“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”

“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”

“Sprucing up…”

She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘

“Papa!”

Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.

Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”

“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”

“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”

Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”

“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”

“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘

“Yuji…”

“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”

“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”

“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”

“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave. 

Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.

“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”

“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”

“Don’t mess this up!”

He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-

“Nanami-san?”

Your voice.

Was he dreaming?

And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.

So this is what Shoko meant about-

“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.

“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?

His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.

The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.

Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.

Certainly no conceivable world…

And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.

“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”

Red, red roses.

.

.

.

Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.

Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…

As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses. 

And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.

The implications were there for all to see.

It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”

“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”

From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.

But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.

He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat. 

He insisted on plating for you.

You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…

Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.

Wondering what every single word meant.

But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips. 

“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.

He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”

The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”

“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”

“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”

“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”

“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”

He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”

You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”

“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.

“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”

“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.

“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”

“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.

“No…” You breathe.

He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”

The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”

“No-”

Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—

And even that isn’t enough.

Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Almost as if he was fucking you with it-

You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this. 

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.

“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.

You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead. 

He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”

You squirm. Shaking your head-

But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”

Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”

“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.” 

He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.

Lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”

You nod-

“First lesson. Big girls use their words.” 

And your jaw drops—

“K-Kento—”

You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!

Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now. 

Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.

Count it.

One-two-three. 

Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.

“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds. 

“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Are you excited, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Good girl.”

Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else. 

He’d been starving for far too long.

And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters. 

Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.

He gulps.

He takes a single sniff. 

With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.

His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.

He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”

You tremble at the tone.

Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.

This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.

So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.

Such strong hands. Furious tongue.

No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing. 

Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more. 

Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—

And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-

He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!

“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”

“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”

Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?

He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”

And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs. 

Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.

Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-

“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”

“Kento, you don’t have to-”

“Consider it my second lesson.”

You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”

And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”

“I see.” You gape.

And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—

Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.

“Words.” Nanami reminds. 

Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”

He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”

“Too- too long.”

Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?” 

“Too long-”

At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”

You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”

“Can you settle down like a good girl?”

Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!

Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.

It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue. 

Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting. 

The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing

“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy. 

“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.

“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—

Ruined. 

“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.” 

Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.

Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.

No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.

“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”

Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”

“Yes-”

“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”

The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.

Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”

“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-

He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in. 

At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”

You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”

And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?

Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.

“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”

Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.” 

Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”

“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.

Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.

“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”

You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—

And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.

So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?

It was sheer madness.

It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.

Pressing in. Fucking in.

In and in, and in—

“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”

“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out. 

Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.” 

“But Kento-”

Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.

“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”

“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”

He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—

Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.

“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive. 

Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.

It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.

Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves- 

You buck.

You get hit with a sudden spank.

“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants. 

You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”

Another spank.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Kento.”

“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”

You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…

“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”

Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”

Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last. 

Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—

Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-

Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.

Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.

His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.

He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.

Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-

The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”

Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”

“Wh-what?”

It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”

And he was just loving it.

“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”

He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”

“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”

You can only nod.

“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”

And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.

There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.

Struggling up onto your elbows once more-

“Stay down—”

“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—

There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.

Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine. 

He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.

He lunges towards you-

“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.

You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-

He wanted your panties on.

Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity. 

“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned. 

He was just so attractive that it made you squirm. 

Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.

Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-

And fuck…

Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.

But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.

You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.

Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.

His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.

Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…

But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.

It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.

As often as he used to, at least.

And you? You were loving it.

Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.

“My dear…”

“Kento.”

He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-

And then he’s letting you see him—all of him. 

From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.

So thick. So strong.

You just wanted to be crushed between them.

And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.

Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.

“K-Kento…”

His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”

“But I still want to.” You insist.

“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”

You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”

He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”

“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”

The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.

Your first time.

Your first time.

Your first time.

He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”

“Yes.”

Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”

In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.

Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.

And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.

Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.

And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”

You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”

He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”

And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”

And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”

Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”

“The second…” 

But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock. 

That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—

Thwack!

Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”

“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-

“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”

Thwack!

“Keep talking, honey.”

“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”

He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”

“To use you-”

“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects. 

And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.

He’s bending you easily in half.

Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.

Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.

A fucking mating press.

Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!

And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head. 

“K-Kento-” Through your tears.

“Easy there- third lesson, remember?” 

“To s-settle down…”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.

And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you? 

Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.

After probe after probe.

Just animalistically trying to fit inside—

“The sixth- the sixth-”

“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.” 

Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.

Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.

“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”

“Mhmmm.”

A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”

“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.

Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.

His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—

“F-fuck that was-”

“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”

You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”

“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”

“And…?”

And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.

Your cervix.

Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”

“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”

“Continue.”

“Who cares about breathing-”

A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.

He really was mean.

He really was merciless.

Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.

Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.

Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.

And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.

Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”

And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”

“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”

“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘

“Oh.”

“Your virginity is mine.”

“Oh.”

Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.

Inside and inside.

Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.

Enough to render you speechless- 

“—graduated.”

And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”

You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”

He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”

“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”

“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”

A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.

“If you’d like then-”

“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”

The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”

“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”

Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-

And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”

If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.

Was on the verge of doing.

He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.

Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”

“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. 

“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”

Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-

“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”

You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”

Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.

“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”

“Wh-why—” You sob out.

And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”

Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.

Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.

Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.

It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.

Again and again and again—

He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.

Filling it with so much of his cum.

“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”

You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”

And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”

Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”

Too good, almost.

You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together— 

Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”

Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.

He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”

The seventh…?

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”

You gape, “What, why-”

“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition. 

Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”

You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”

To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”

“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”

“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling. 

Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.” 

Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?

“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”

.

.

.

Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.

A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—

Valentine’s Day.

The dinner.

The table.

You. Being taken on the table.

Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—

And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.

Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.

Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.

He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.

If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.

He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.

It was a cold morning.

And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-

And it’s then that several things happen at once.

Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.

Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.

Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-

And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.

Of course, it was none other than his son. 

Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”

And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.

“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away. 

Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”

The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”

“Then we eat the pancakes.”

“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Hm?”

“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”

Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”

“Thank you, Cupid!”

Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.

You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.

Yeah, it really is a good morning.

He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.

It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day). 

It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.

It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.

It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.

You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.

And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.

He also starts looking into wedding rings.

He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.

A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.

The television's glow painted the living room in shifting watercolors—blues bleeding into silvers, shadows dancing like whispered secrets across the walls. But neither of you were really watching. The movie had become nothing more than ambient noise, a soundtrack to something far more important: the steady rise and fall of Sevika's chest beneath your cheek, the way her fingers traced lazy constellations along your shoulder blade.

You were a puzzle piece slotted perfectly against her side, your body molded to the landscape of hers like water finding its level. Her mechanical arm rested along the back of the couch, cool metal a stark contrast to the furnace-warmth of her right side, where her flesh-and-blood hand held you close. She was your own personal gravity well, and you were content to orbit her forever.

The couch had become your entire universe—soft cushions like clouds, the worn throw blanket a cocoon wrapped around your intertwined legs. Sevika's heartbeat was a drum beneath your ear, steady and strong, each pulse a promise: I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.

Outside, the city hummed its evening song, but inside this little apartment, time moved differently. It stretched and bent, making minutes feel like hours in the best possible way. The scent of the jasmine candle you'd lit earlier still lingered in the air, mingling with the familiar smell of Sevika—engine oil and leather and something uniquely her, something that made home feel less like a place and more like a person.

"You're not even watching," she murmured, her voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. There was no accusation in it, only fond amusement, warm as honey.

"Neither are you," you countered, tilting your head to catch her grey eyes. They were softer now than they ever were in daylight, like storm clouds parting to reveal gentler skies. The hard edges she showed the world had melted away here, in the sanctuary of your shared home, leaving only the woman beneath—the one who held you like you were something precious, breakable, holy.

Her lips quirked into the barest smile, a rare flower blooming. "Fair point."

She pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, and you felt it bloom through your entire body like ink in water, spreading warmth from your scalp to your toes. These moments were your favourite—not the grand gestures or passionate declarations, but these quiet instances where love was as simple as breathing. Where being together was enough.

The movie continued its forgotten narrative on screen—something with car chases and explosions that you'd both agreed sounded interesting when you'd picked it. Now it might as well have been white noise. Sevika's thumb drew circles on your shoulder, a repetitive motion that was probably unconscious, but felt like a meditation. Like she was memorising you through touch alone.

"Remember when we first started dating?" you murmured, your fingers finding the hem of her shirt, playing with the fabric. "And you were so worried about movie choices? You'd spend like twenty minutes making sure I'd actually enjoy what we picked."

Sevika huffed a quiet laugh, and you felt it reverberate through her chest. "You say that like I was being ridiculous."

"You were being sweet," you corrected, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "Overthinking, but sweet."

"I wanted—" She paused, and you could practically hear her trying to find the right words. Sevika had never been good with them, preferring actions over speeches. "I wanted everything to be perfect. You deserved perfect."

Your heart clenched like a fist. Even now, months into this relationship, she could surprise you with her vulnerability. "You know what's perfect?" you asked softly. "This. Right here. Not watching movies together."

Her arm tightened around you, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, lived-in, like a favourite sweater.

Minutes dissolved like sugar in tea. You traced idle patterns on her stomach through her shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath, the way she breathed deeper when your fingers found certain spots. She was your anchor and your adventure all at once, steady ground and uncharted territory.

On screen, something exploded in a ball of orange flame. Neither of you flinched.

"This is nice," Sevika said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the spell of the evening. "I don't get enough of this. Just... quiet."

You understood what she meant. Sevika's life was loud—all sharp edges and sharper words, always moving, always working, always fighting for something or someone. These moments of peace were rare jewels, and you hoarded each one like a dragon with treasure.

"We should do this more often," you suggested, tilting your head back to look at her properly. "Make it a tradition. Movie night every week."

"Even if we don't actually watch the movies?" There was a teasing lilt to her voice, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"Especially if we don't watch the movies."

She laughed then, a real laugh that you felt in your bones, and kissed you properly. Slow and thorough, taking her time, like you had all the time in the world. And here, now, you did.

Eventually, Sevika shifted slightly, regret evident in the way she moved. "I need some water," she said, her voice reluctant, as if leaving your embrace—even briefly—was a small tragedy. Her throat clicked as she swallowed. "Think I had too much of that spicy food earlier. Want anything?"

You hummed contentedly, burrowing deeper into the warm spot she'd created. "I'm good. Hurry back though."

"Always do."

She began the careful extraction process of untangling herself from you without disturbing you too much, though you both knew it was futile—the cold air rushed in where her warmth had been, and you immediately missed her like the earth misses the sun at night. She stood, stretching, and you watched the way her muscles moved beneath her skin, still marvelling that this woman—this fierce, formidable force of nature—had chosen you.

The throw blanket slipped off her legs and pooled on the couch beside you. You reached out to pull it closer, already anticipating wrapping both of you in it when she returned.

Sevika took one step toward the kitchen, her eyes still on you with that soft expression she reserved only for these moments.

Then her foot connected with the corner of the coffee table with a sickening crack.

"Bhenchod!" The curse exploded from her lips as she hopped backward, clutching her foot, her face contorted in pain. "Fucking table—saala—"

Your heart lurched, concern flooding through you like ice water. You sat up immediately, the blanket falling away. "Arrey, tu theek hai?" The words spilled out before you could think, concern overriding everything else. "Did you hurt yourself badly? Baith jao, let me see—"

The room fell into a silence so complete you could hear the movie's dialogue for the first time in an hour. Even the city outside seemed to hold its breath.

Sevika's head snapped toward you, grey eyes wide as full moons, her injured foot temporarily forgotten. She stared at you like you'd just performed a miracle, like you'd split the sky open and let starlight pour through. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again.

"What—" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, still balancing on one foot, looking almost comical in her shock. "What did you just say?"

Heat crept up your neck, butterflies taking flight in your stomach. You'd wanted this to be more planned, more special, not blurted out in the middle of a stubbed-toe crisis. Maybe over dinner, or during a quiet morning, or literally any time that wasn't when she was actively in pain. But the cat was out of the bag now, and your heart was hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

"I asked if you were okay," you said softly, switching back to English, suddenly shy under the weight of her astonished gaze. "In Hindi. I've been... learning. For a few months now."

"You—" Sevika limped back to the couch, injury apparently forgotten in the face of this revelation, and sank down beside you. Her hand found yours immediately, threading your fingers together like prayer, like she needed to anchor herself to something real. "You've been learning Hindi?"

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes, studying your intertwined hands instead. Her palm was calloused, warm, familiar. Safe. "I wanted to surprise you. I know it's important to you, and I thought... I wanted to understand that part of you better. To be able to speak to you in your language. The one you think in, when you're tired or stressed or—" You gestured vaguely. "I wanted to know you in every language you exist in."

Her mechanical hand came up to cup your cheek, cool metal impossibly gentle, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to look at her. What you saw there stole your breath—her eyes were glassy, swimming with emotion she rarely let surface. Her expression was raw, unguarded, like you'd reached into her chest and cradled her heart in your palms.

"How long?" she asked, her voice barely steady. "How long have you been learning?"

"About four months," you admitted. "I found this app, and then I started watching some YouTube videos, and there's this really patient tutor I meet with twice a week online—" You were rambling now, nervous energy spilling out. "I'm not fluent or anything, not even close, but I wanted to at least try. For you."

"Say something else," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Please. Anything."

Your heart was a hummingbird, frantic and wild. You took a breath, trying to remember the phrases you'd practiced over and over. "Main tumse bahut pyaar karti hoon," you said, the words careful but sincere. I love you very much.

Then, growing bolder: "Tum meri duniya ho." You are my world.

A sound escaped her—half laugh, half sob—and then she was kissing you. Not the casual pecks you exchanged daily, but something deeper, more reverent. She kissed you like you were air and she'd been drowning, like you were the answer to a question she'd been asking her whole life. Her mechanical hand stayed gentle on your cheek while her other hand came up to tangle in your hair, holding you close like she was afraid you might disappear.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

"Tu jaanti hai tu kitni kamaal hai?" she murmured, her Hindi flowing like music, like water, like home. Do you know how amazing you are?

Then, switching to English because maybe the words were too big for one language alone, too important to risk in translation: "You learned Hindi. For me. You spent months—four months—learning my language because you wanted to know me better."

"Of course for you," you said simply, your thumb stroking across her knuckles, feeling the ridges and valleys of each one. "Everything good I do is for you. You're worth every lesson."

She laughed then, wet and wonderful, and pulled you back into her arms—tighter this time, like she was trying to merge your souls, press you into the very fabric of her being. You settled against her chest once more, listening to the way her heart raced, feeling the slight tremor in her hands that betrayed just how affected she was.

"Say something else," she requested again, her voice muffled against your hair. "I just—I need to hear it again. That you really learned. That you really—"

"Tumhara haath pakadna mujhe sabse zyada pasand hai," you said softly. Holding your hand is my favorite thing. "Aur tumhari aankhen—" And your eyes— You paused, realising you didn't know the full phrase you wanted. "Okay, my vocabulary isn't quite there yet for poetry, but you get the idea."

Sevika was shaking with silent laughter now, her whole body vibrating with it. "You're incredible. You're learning Hindi and you're already trying to be poetic with it."

"I had motivation," you said, grinning against her shirt. "My girlfriend is very inspiring."

"Your girlfriend is currently dying," she said, but there was no heat in it, only overwhelming affection. "You can't just—you can't just drop something like this on me. My heart can't take it."

You pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were still slightly wet, and there was a smile on her face that you'd never seen before—completely unguarded, radiating pure joy. It was like watching the sun rise, like witnessing something sacred.

"How's your foot, by the way?" you asked, suddenly remembering the cause of this entire revelation.

"My—oh. Right." She glanced down at her foot as if she'd forgotten she had feet at all. "It's fine. Hurts like a bitch, but I've had worse. Much worse." She looked back at you, and her expression turned soft again. "Worth it, if it meant finding out about this."

"I didn't mean to tell you like that," you admitted. "It just—when you cursed in Hindi, I just responded automatically. All that practice kicked in."

"What were you planning? How were you going to tell me?"

You bit your lip. "I was thinking maybe I'd surprise you at dinner or something. Say something romantic, see if you noticed. Or maybe I'd leave you a note in Hindi. I had a whole thing planned in my head—it was very smooth and romantic, not at all happening while you're hopping around with a stubbed toe."

Sevika threw her head back and laughed, a full-bellied sound that you felt in your soul. "That's perfect though. That's so us. Nothing ever goes according to plan."

"That's true," you conceded. "Remember when you tried to plan that elaborate date at the fancy restaurant?"

"And we ended up getting street food and sitting on a fire escape because the restaurant had a gas leak," she finished, grinning. "Yeah. We're not great at the traditional romance thing."

"I don't know," you said, cuddling back into her side, exactly where you belonged. "I think we're doing pretty well."

She was quiet for a moment, her hand resuming its earlier path along your shoulder, but there was a new quality to her touch now—something reverent, grateful. "Will you teach me?" she asked suddenly.

"Teach you what?"

"Your language. Whatever your first language is, or—" She paused. "I realised I never asked. I speak Hindi with you now, or—I want to. But I don't know what language feels like home to you."

Your heart swelled impossibly large in your chest. You told her your first language. "But the fact that you want to know, that you want to—" You had to stop, emotion catching in your throat.

"Of course I want to know," she said fiercely. "You learned my language. You spent months learning something difficult just to be closer to me. That's—" Her voice cracked. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."

"It's really not that hard," you tried to deflect, but she stopped you with a look.

"It is. Learning a new language is incredibly hard. Don't diminish what you did." She pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You're amazing. Tum bahut khaas ho." You are very special.

"I learned that phrase last week," you said, smiling. "Along with tum sundar ho." You are beautiful.

"I'm not beautiful," she protested automatically, but you could see the faint colour rising in her cheeks.

"Tum bahut sundar ho," you insisted. You are very beautiful. "And before you argue, remember that I'm learning Hindi specifically to tell you these things, so you have to accept them."

"That's not how it works."

"That's exactly how it works. I'm putting in all this effort—you have to take the compliments."

She laughed again, that wonderful sound that you'd do anything to hear. "Okay. Okay, fine. Thank you." She kissed the top of your head. "Aur tum sabse sundar ho." And you are the most beautiful.

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the movie still playing to an audience of none. The coffee table sat innocently nearby, unaware of the chaos it had caused.

"My foot really does hurt though," Sevika said eventually.

"Want me to get you ice?"

"And the water I originally got up for, yeah." She made no move to release you though.

"You're not letting me go, are you?"

"Not yet," she admitted. "Just... let me hold you a little longer. My brilliant, wonderful girlfriend who learned an entire language in secret just to surprise me." She pressed her face into your hair and breathed deeply. "I'm the luckiest fucking person alive."

"Hum dono lucky hain," you said softly. We are both lucky.

"Show off," she teased, but there was no bite to it, only endless affection.

Eventually, you did get up to fetch ice and water, but not before stealing several more kisses. And when you returned, Sevika pulled you back into her arms immediately, adjusting so her foot was elevated with the ice pack, the water forgotten on the side table.

You settled back into your favorite spot in the world—right against her side, her arm around you, your head on her chest. The movie's credits were rolling now, but neither of you moved to turn it off.

"We didn't watch any of the movie," you pointed out.

"Best movie night we've ever had though," Sevika countered, and you couldn't argue with that.

In the flickering television light, wrapped in each other's arms, you both knew that this—this moment, this love, this life you were building together—was better than any movie could ever be. It was messy and imperfect and absolutely beautiful.

The water could wait.

The ice would melt.

The world could keep spinning without you for a while.

This, right here, was everything.

“Damn it, kid, what the hell you doin’ here?” It’s late, far too late for her to be dealing with this. With you. But her response, the way she sighs and tries to act like her pupils didn’t dilate when she saw it was you stood on her front porch, her chest feeling tight and her breath caught — Sevika can’t hide that from you with the sullen attitude she throws out, like it hides anything softer.

“What? I can’t drop by?” You tease with a smirk on your face, one that Sevika knows only means trouble and it’s only emphasised by the way you subtly shift on the spot, crossing your arms over your chest and unintentionally (pfft, yeah right) push your tits up in that low cut shirt she knows you put on just to taunt her. “I thought we were gonna stay friends, Vika. Can’t a friend check up on you?”

Fuck. Friend, that choice of word was coming back to bite her in the ass, wasn’t it? 

She should have known you wouldn’t give up, you were like a dog with a bone with the way you’d carved a place for yourself in her life and were determined to get the older woman to accept it. And the truth is Sevika craves you, needs you — wants you — more than she’s ever wanted anyone, any friend with benefits or former partner, but there were too many things keeping her from accepting that she could have you.

“Not at one in the morning, little girl. Go home, back…” Her jaw tenses, eyes casting down to the floor of her porch as she takes a deep breath before she finishes her sentence. She has to bite back a groan at the way your eyes seem to sparkle at her use of honorific. “Go back to your dads”

Because there lies Sevika’s biggest issue, the fact that you were the daughter of the closest friend she’s made since she moved to this stupid town, one of the kindest men who took no mind of Sevika’s hard exterior and made sure she wasn’t fully on the edge of the town, a pariah of her own making. She’d been aware he had a daughter, off in her last year of college he’d said when they first met but she’d never seen a picture, never paid attention to the family photo collage in the living room. 

Never realised the young woman she’d had bent over the sinks in a dive bar bathroom, face pressed against the sinks mirror as her thick fingers sank into your tight, wet heat was his kid until she’d come face to face with you at his fourth of july barbeque a few weeks later — jaw slack, heart racing as she clutched the spout of her beer for dear life.

And you? You’d just cocked a brow and bit your tongue to stop from smirking like you are now, extending your hand in a faux friendly manner when your father started introductions. Sevika had spent most of that night with her heart pounding in her chest, blood rushing in her ears as she tried not to panic.

Because it wasn’t just a one time thing, no she’d been with you more times than she could count after that dive bar hookup. Had brought her friend's daughter to her bed and felt her come undone by her touch, had let you pull her apart enough times she was already dreading her own words by the time you managed to corner her in your childhood home.

“We can’t do this anymore, you got that?” And now, three months later and more hookups than she’d care to admit, she was still trying to put an end to things. Each time she justified it, berated herself for her desire for you and would fixate on how wrong it would be.

And each time she would crumble the moment you put your mind to getting her back, but she swore the last time that she meant it. That things were over between you to, she couldn’t stop the guilt she felt every time she saw her friend and knew the was she was dishonouring that friendship, knew how quick his kindness would dissipate if he knew how she craved you.

So she closes the door, or at least tries to only to stop halfway when you wedge yourself between the frame and the door.

“What are you doing?” Sevika growls out, eyes widening as she stops just before the door begins to crush you. “Are you that much of a kid you can’t even think straight enough to not get hurt, just because you can’t get what you want?”

“Sounds dangerously close to you calling me a brat, Vika” Her release on the door allows you to move further towards her, pushing into the house. “C’mon, we play this game every time but it’s getting old real fast. You say we’re not doing it again, say I’m too young to know what I want and then you’ll call me some name like kid or little girl to make the point of this age gap.” You sound bored as you speak, rolling your eyes as if having to recap the same routine you both fall into over and over again is a chore.

Your body moulds into hers, and despite the height difference you stand as if you are the one at 6’1” and not Sevika. Lazily your arms come up to wrap around the older woman's neck and you have to bite back a grin when her arms instinctively fall around your waist, holding you close. “I start teasing you ‘cause despite how much you hate it, you want me just as much as I want you. Then you end up caving and I have you laid out on your bed, begging me to make you cum.”

And just like every other time, her resolve is wearing thin. Or maybe it had never been very thick to begin with. “I don’t beg” Sevika’s voice rasps, looking down at you like she’s trying to convince you — but from the way her tone wavers, you know it's herself she needs to convince first.

“Vika, you beg” You tell her simply, sighing softly. “And then you whine and squirm on my cock, and—”

A large hand quickly clamps over your mouth, stifling your words as her grey eyes widen in alarm. The front door still open, full view of you — dainty in comparison to Sevika’s muscled body and large stature — crowding her up against the wall like you owned her, taunting her loudly about how you fuck her. It’s late, but she still doesn’t want to risk humiliating herself in front of the neighbours. “Shut your mouth” she murmurs lowly, swallowing nervously

Your brows quirk, a knowing and teasing glint in your eyes. After a moment or two, you drop a hand to hers and gently ease her palm off of your mouth, wrapping a hand around two of her fingers and letting them drag against your bottom lip teasingly. “Have you had enough of your routine now, Sevika?”

She’s still desperately holding onto her willpower, reminding herself how wrong it is. But that same voice that always creeps in keeps interjecting. 

It’s immoral to want her best friend's daughter this way, but it’s not like she ever knew you as a child, like she’d ever been there as you grew up. 

You’re so young, you don’t know what you want and you can’t possibly commit to her the way she’d want you to, but you seem to know you want her and would she say the same if you were trying to commit to someone your own age?

And when you slip her fingers past your lips, swirling your tongue around the thick digits obscenely and making them slick with your saliva, sending a sharp pang of arousal straight to her clit as you suck on them, her resolve has well and truly snapped.

It’s funny how you both always end up in this position every time, despite Sevika’s protests each time that this time will be different. And every time it ends with her on her back against her sheets, muscled thighs spread and her cunt on display for you as you fix yourself between them. Tongue laving against her arousal, smeared across her slit and bush as she ruts her pussy against your hungry mouth. Her large hands are gripping at whatever she can, the edge of the mattress, the duvet, as your mouth provides almost torturous attention to her clit.

Another addicting thing about you, the way you’d never shied away from focusing on Sevika’s pleasure before your own. In her early 40s now, she’d had a handful of partners and yet there had always seemed to be the expectation that she was the one who would give, who would dominate in the bedroom. And while she hadn’t minded this, the way you seemed to so effortlessly fit into that role instead and make that role she’d played for years falter never fails to surprise her and, worse, make her an uncontrollable mess.

The way you’re eating her pussy is messy, tongue running flat from hole to clit over and over, drool spilling from your chin — or maybe it’s her own weeping cunt dripping for you, she’s not sure anymore. All she does know is how desperate she feels, trying to keep her thighs spread for you as you devour her and trying not to grab you by the hair to fuck your face the way the knot forming in her stomach begs her to.

She’s so close, orgasm beginning to brew when she feels, hears you pull off of her clit with a loud pop! And spit lewdly down onto her already drenched pussy with a hum. “Look at what a mess this pussy is for me, Vika. Turning me a’fucking-way when you’re a mess like this? Poor fucking things practically drooling for me”

She whines, a noise so unlike her to anyone but you, and throws an arm over her face to hide from the embarrassment. This was something new she’d discovered too, your taunting that would make her cheeks flame and her cunt throb. She would have never pegged herself to get off on the humiliation, and yet every time you spoke to her like this it only served to arouse her more.

Maybe that’s why she comes crawling back every time, denies you, the possibility of the two of you being a couple just to fall into bed with you and hear you mock her the way she apparently needs.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” A slap to her pussy has her sucking in a sharp breath, thighs spasming slightly as she tries to regain her composure. “Haven’t fucked you stupid yet, don’t tell me you’re goin’ senile, old woman”

The cooling heat at her cheeks reignites at the reminder of your age gap, her gruff voice finally found. “Don’t call me that” It’s all she can manage, but it sounds like a challenge to you — she can tell by the way you seem to still for a moment before rising enough to lean over her body on the bed.

You’ve got two fingers stuffed inside of Sevika’s pussy, crooked in a come-hither position and fucking her roughly, before she can even take a breath but there’s nothing throwing off your casual ease. “Don’t call you what, Vika? Old?”

She swears she can see stars behind her eyes as you finger fuck her at a fast pace, her arousal quickly starting to drip down her aching cunt. You roll your eyes at the way she moves back against your hand, riding it with her head thrown back softly.

“You go on and on about how young I am, calling me what — kid and little girl — but can’t take it when I do the same. What, does it make you feel dirty hearing me do the same to you?”

Yes, but she wasn’t going to say that. Couldn’t say that, not with the brutal assault on her pussy you were delivering but it’s not like you were actually expecting a response. “How about the next time you call me one of those names, I just start calling you the same. Cause you can point it out all you want baby, but it’s not gonna stop you from being a dirty little pervert that wants to fuck the girl twenty years younger than you”

You feel her clench around your fingers at that, scoffing at the way the humiliating words only seem to turn her on more. “Fuck, look at you — are you getting off on me calling you a dirty little perv?”

Sevika grunts in response, grey eyes slitting open as she tries to breathe normally.

“Don’t— act like… like you aren’t… either” The words are spoken through panted breathes, difficulty focusing as your fingers caress the insides of her velvet walls. 

“Vika, I’m not the one trying to push the other away and then practically sucking the other person's fingers in cause of how tight their pussy is. You might be hot and cold with me but this perfect cunt knows exactly where it wants me”

You’d been going at it for hours, easing orgasms out of each other like it was tit for tat. The dynamic shifted, Sevika on top for one round and fucking you deep into her mattress as she ground her cunt against yours but the entire time you’d regained the control quickly as she began mewling at how good you felt against her, how slick your pussies were.

You’d teased her for how cunt-drunk she’d gotten, how easily she fell into submissive tendencies for you. “N’Aww, Vika— You act like a big, scary dog but you turn into such a puppy” all the while, slapping and pinching at her small breasts to hear more of her needy noises.

And for the last round, you’d sank your strap so deep inside of her she thought she’d gone blind from how far back her eyes seemed to roll, face smushed into the mattress and short hair messy both from sweat and the way you clutched a handful of the black locks to keep her in position. With every slam of your hips, drag of the thick shaft through her stretched out hole, you spill whatever degrading words come to mind — not even registering what you say, just rambling on and on.

“You don’t seem to be that worried about how young I am when I’ve got you soaking the sheets, huh?” You’d smirked against the shell of her ear after she’d cum for the second time, her messy release surprising her as she sat in the drenched spot of the bed.

And when she was humping your pussy, shaky and desperate with need as your slick cunts shifted against each other — you laying back and letting Sevika do all the work, you’d narrowed your eyes and cocked your head to the side with a smirk. “This little girls’ got you all desperate, huh?”

Laughing and toying with her worn out hole, watching how it flutters and tries to clench around nothing after you’d pulled your strap from her. “Greedy” You’d snapped when your finger had ghosted at her hole again, her hips rising and moving to try and bring you closer, “Pathetic thing needs stuffing again? Seriously, Vika? And you wanted to be just friends? Is your pussy this hungry for your friends, huh?!”

And by the time you both feel as though sleep has captured you both enough to give up, Sevika’s sweat slick back is pressed against her rumpled sheets — too lazy to change them to clean ones now, not when the sky is shades of yellow and pink, cracks of blue coming through as day comes to.

You’re furled up against her side, leg thrown lazily over her body and she can feel the warmth of your steady breaths against her neck as you ready for sleep.

She thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep, too quiet to not be so her tired eyes widen in surprise when she hears your voice murmur lowly against her skin. “Not doing this again”

Your words make her heart stutter, panic icy in her veins but her words are even, not showing the turmoil in her mind. “What?” In her head, she’s thinking you got your fill, you’re bored of her now, she was right she was right she was—

You sigh softly, nestling further into her body. “Not chasing you again. Mine now, just… accept it”

And for once, Sevika doesn’t argue against it.

satoru hunched at the edge of the room, trying to fold six-foot-something of himself into invisibility. his long frame bent awkwardly, one hand wrapped around a glass of something he wasn’t drinking, the other shoved deep into his pocket. he stared into the alcohol like it was the most complex equation he’d ever seen, as if enough focus could rewrite reality and teleport him back home.

he could already imagine the voices of his colleagues.

professor gojo? out? on a friday night? in public? with other human beings?

they’d laugh until they choked.

and honestly, he couldn’t even fault them. his idea of “wild” was alphabetizing his bookcase differently. sweater vests weren’t ironic—they were his uniform. his hair was a perpetual disaster. his glasses had never once been clean.

yet somehow, impossibly, people wanted him. women. men. hell, even the terrifying librarian with the sharp nails had once slipped her number into his pocket and scratched his palm on purpose.

but none of it mattered. because his cock wanted no one.

months of failure—years, if he stopped lying to himself. soft, useless, unresponsive. like a bored student passed out in the back of a lecture hall. hands, mouths, bodies, toys, pills, even guided breathing exercises he found on youtube. nothing worked. he’d tried so hard.

a doctor had once patted his knee, offered him a kind smile, and said it was probably psychological. probably. as if that helped.

so here he was. in hell. in a nightclub. chasing some faint ghost of arousal he barely remembered, desperate enough to gamble on noise and neon fixing something pills couldn’t.

he swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the ice clink against the sides. his palms were sweating, napkin damp and tearing in his grip. the sticky spill on his vest itched. everyone else here looked poured into leather and lace, bodies slick with heat, moving like choreography. he looked like somebody’s lost chaperone.

he was going to leave. he could already hear the excuses forming. you tried. you showed up. that counts. go home, put on jeopardy reruns, pretend this never happened.

and then—

his eyes caught on the bar.

his chest locked tight.

because there, bathed in neon haze, was you.

his student.

quiet. diligent. always front row. notebooks filled with neat handwriting, margins full of smart little questions that made his chest ache with pride. the kind of student who turned assignments in early. who lingered after class to double-check things with a polite smile.

and now—

now you were lit up in violent flashes of pink and blue. straps biting into your thighs, a glittering body chain sparking under the strobe. lipstick dark and wet, dangerous. you moved behind the bar with practiced ease, bottles flashing in your hands, wrists flexing with the same precision you used to balance equations.

someone—holy fuck—slipped a bill into your thigh strap. and you only smirked. unbothered.

satoru’s breath hitched.

this wasn’t real. it couldn’t be real. you weren’t supposed to look like this. you weren’t supposed to look like you’d stepped out of his most private, most shameful late-night fantasies—except sharper, alive, intentional.

and then it happened.

a twitch. a stirring. a pulse low in his gut.

satoru almost dropped his glass.

because his cock—his stubborn, traitorous, useless cock—was waking up. not halfheartedly. not maybe-if-you-squint. no, it was real hard. straining against his slacks, throbbing like it had been shocked back from the dead.

his face burned. no. no no no. this was unethical. wrong. god, illegal. he should turn around and leave, sprint home, bury himself under blankets until the shame killed him.

but his feet betrayed him.

like gravity had shifted, like he’d been caught in some perverse orbit, he drifted toward the bar, clutching his glass like a talisman.

“oh—uh, h-hi,” he croaked, throat bone-dry, voice cracking.

your smile was small at first, the kind bartenders give when they’re humoring some sad man too out of place for the room. but then it curved, sharpened, and oh god, it was aimed right at him.

satoru’s stomach dropped like an elevator.

“professor?” you said, like you couldn’t quite believe it. your voice cut through the bass, familiar in a way that made his ears burn. “what are you doing here?”

his mouth opened. nothing came out. he tried again, fumbling like a freshman caught cheating. “i—uh—research?”

oh god.

research?!

he wanted to bite his own tongue off.

you arched a brow, wiping the bar with a rag, unimpressed. “research. in a club?”

“anthropology,” he blurted, then immediately winced. “sociology. human… behavior.”

you snorted, and the sound went straight to his cock. fuck. since when did laughter make him hard?

“you’re terrible at lying,” you said, leaning on the counter. your body chain dipped, catching the light, and he swore he almost passed out. “so. try again, professor. why are you here?”

his glasses slipped down his nose. he pushed them up with a shaky hand, fingers clammy against the frames. “i… i don’t know.”

and it was true. he didn’t know. he’d come chasing some hopeless spark, some phantom memory of desire. but now, faced with you—his quietest student dressed like a nightmare dressed like a dream—he had no words, no excuse, nothing.

you tilted your head, studying him the way you did in class when he went off on tangents about wave-particle duality. except now your eyes were darker, sharper, and satoru felt pinned like a bug.

“hm,” you said, and that little sound nearly undid him.

he scrambled for composure. “shouldn’t you, uh… be studying? not, um…” his hand flailed vaguely at your outfit, at the neon, at the woman trying to squeeze past with three shots in each hand. “…this?”

you laughed again. “oh, professor. i can multitask.”

his cock twitched. hard. jesus christ.

you slid a glass toward him. whiskey, neat. the kind of drink that burned going down, exactly what he deserved.

“here,” you said, lips quirking. “on the house. unless you want me to put it on your… tuition.”

satoru choked. literally choked. coughs tore out of him while his face went scarlet. you watched with undisguised amusement, not moving to help.

“you’re enjoying this,” he accused weakly, wiping at his mouth with a napkin that dissolved instantly in condensation.

“maybe.” your smirk widened. “you look cute when you’re flustered.”

his brain short-circuited. cute. you called him cute. his cock pressed insistently against his slacks, proof of his betrayal.

“i—i’m not—” he stammered, but you cut him off with a lazy wave.

“don’t bother. you’re blushing so hard i can see it even under these lights.”

he dropped his gaze to the drink. amber liquid swirled, reflecting neon. he wished he could sink into it and drown.

“so,” you said casually, like you weren’t dismantling his entire sense of self, “what’s a professor doing all alone at a club, looking like someone’s lost dad?”

“that’s—harsh,” he muttered.

“accurate,” you shot back, grin quick and sharp.

he couldn’t look at you. couldn’t look at your mouth, your chain, the way you leaned just far enough forward that every inch of skin caught the light. his throat worked uselessly.

“i shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

“and yet.” your voice was smooth, merciless. “here you are.”

satoru downed the whiskey in one gulp. it scorched his throat, burned all the way down, but it didn’t steady his hands. didn’t stop the ache building in his cock, thick and heavy, a sensation he hadn’t felt in too long.

“i should leave,” he tried again, pushing his glasses up.

“you won’t.”

he blinked. “i—what?”

“you won’t,” you repeated, smirk back in place. “because you’re curious.” you leaned closer, so close he could smell your perfume, heady and dangerous. “aren’t you?”

satoru told himself he could leave at any moment.

he’d finish the whiskey, set the glass down, mutter some excuse about “an early lecture tomorrow,” and walk out. back to his apartment. back to his alphabetized bookshelves and his disappointing bed.

but he didn’t move.

the bass thrummed through the soles of his shoes, through his bones, like it was mocking the rhythm of his pulse. sweat prickled down his back beneath his sweater vest. every time he risked a glance at you, he swore the room shifted, tilting on some new axis, as if you were its center.

and you weren’t even doing anything. just working. mixing drinks with methodical precision, slipping straws between lacquered lips to taste-test before sliding them across to strangers. laughing at some offhand joke from another bartender. leaning forward just enough that the chain across your chest glittered and dipped, pulling his gaze like a lodestone.

it was unbearable. he wasn’t built for this.

your laugh was too loud in his head. his name sounded different on your tongue—professor—but stretched into something teasing, indulgent, like you were tasting it. he kept replaying it, again and again, like an idiot listening to a broken record.

he thought of the classroom. you, hunched over neat notes. the quiet hum you made when something clicked in your head. the way your eyes brightened when he explained concepts no one else bothered to ask about. safe. simple. untouchable.

and now—this.

what was worse? that you looked like sin personified, or that his body responded to you instantly, violently, in a way it hadn’t responded to anyone in months.

his cock pressed hard against the zipper of his slacks, an ache he’d half-convinced himself he’d never feel again. humiliating. exhilarating. he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

he barely realized you were speaking until your words cut clean through his haze.

“so what’s the real reason you’re here, professor?”

his heart jolted.

“i—i told you—”

“research?” your smirk slanted, ruthless. “you’ve been staring at me like i’m the experiment.”

he flinched. too obvious. he was too obvious.

“i wasn’t—”

“you were.” your voice was low, amused. “so what’s the hypothesis? what are you testing?”

he wanted to melt into the bar. vanish between the floorboards. die instantly, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“i shouldn’t—” he started, but his throat closed. he swallowed, the burn of whiskey still sharp. “…be here.”

“and yet.” your gaze held his. “here you are.”

he hated how your words stuck. how they rang truer than anything he could summon.

you slid closer along the bar, slow, deliberate, until he could smell you. not perfume, not entirely—something warmer, like sweat, leather, faint sugar from spilled drinks. dizzying. he was suddenly hyperaware of the glasses sliding down his nose, the sweat on his palms, the way his knees pressed awkwardly together like a teenager.

“want me to guess?” you asked.

he couldn’t speak. he nodded.

you leaned in, lips nearly brushing the rim of his ear, and his entire body went rigid.

“you came here because you’re desperate.”

his cock throbbed. shame twisted in his chest, but his body betrayed him.

“no—i’m not—”

“you are.” you didn’t even let him finish. “you’ve got this reputation, right? handsome professor, women fawning over you, colleagues jealous. but you look miserable.” a pause. a smirk in your tone. “like a man who can’t get it up.”

the air vanished from his lungs.

he stared at the counter, vision blurring. if there had been any mercy in the universe, the floor would have opened up beneath him.

“h-how—”

“i can tell,” you said easily, like you were pointing out the weather. “the way you’re sitting. the way you drink like it’ll save you. the way you’re staring at me like you don’t know whether to beg or bolt.”

a whimper caught in his throat. he clamped his lips shut, horrified.

your grin was sharp enough to wound.

“don’t worry, professor,” you murmured, leaning back, stretching like a cat. “i think it’s cute.”

cute. there it was again. his entire face was burning. his body was a live wire, buzzing, too much input all at once.

he tried to swallow words that didn’t form. tried to breathe. tried not to reach for himself under the bar like a pathetic man.

and then you tilted your head, watching him squirm, and said the words that broke him:

“want me to help you?”

his head snapped up. his throat bobbed, working uselessly around sounds.

“i—i can’t—this is wrong—”

“wrong?” you interrupted, lips quirking. “look around, professor.”

he did.

the club pulsed and writhed with bodies, couples grinding, strangers pressed against walls, mouths and hands everywhere. people moaning into each other’s necks, slipping fingers under clothes, lost in their own hunger. no one cared. no one noticed him.

except you.

you leaned closer, gaze bright in the dark. “so. what’s it gonna be? back to your little apartment, back to boring physics theories and untouched cock…” your hand brushed his knee under the bar, light as static. “or let me show you what it feels like to want again?”

satoru’s pulse roared in his ears.

his cock strained hard, insistent. his brain was sludge, torn between flight and surrender.

he should leave. he should.

instead, his lips parted, voice shaky, cracked, humiliating:

“…please.”

your smile was triumphant. the wicked, malicious kind.

“good boy.”

the words sank into him slow.

"good boy."

his chest seized. his cock twitched, painful against the zipper. no one had ever called him that in his thirty-nine years of life, not like this, not with a voice that dripped command and amusement and warmth all at once.

his glasses slid down his nose, blurred neon smears swimming in his vision, but he couldn’t lift a hand to fix them. he was frozen. small. wide-eyed.

you tilted your head, smile sharp. “come on, professor. up.”

he blinked. “w-what?”

“up.” your hand closed around his wrist, cool metal from your rings pressing against his skin, and before he could resist—before he could think—you were tugging him off the barstool.

his legs wobbled. he nearly tripped, muttering an apology even though you didn’t stumble. the crowd pressed in on every side, bodies slick and shameless, but all he could feel was your hand guiding him, sure and steady, threading through the chaos.

“w-wait,” he stammered, trying to plant his heels. “where—where are we—”

“somewhere better.”

he wanted to ask what that meant. he wanted to protest, to point out the ethical violations, the sheer impossibility of this. he wanted to run.

instead, his cock throbbed harder.

the crowd swallowed you both whole. neon washed over faces twisted in pleasure, mouths open, eyes closed. no one looked. no one cared. satoru’s chest heaved, panic and arousal choking him, and still you dragged him deeper, until you found an empty couch pushed up against the wall.

you shoved him down onto it with terrifying ease.

satoru sat stiff, knees locked together, sweater vest damp with sweat. his glasses fogged instantly.

“breathe,” you said, standing over him, hands sliding down your own body like you knew exactly how to keep his eyes glued. “you look like you’re gonna faint.”

he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “i—I just—this is—”

“shh.” you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a thousand times, like his body had always been your seat. the shift of your weight pressed him deeper into the cracked leather couch, and his breath left him in a strangled wheeze, the kind that clawed its way up from his chest without permission.

his cock lurched violently against the too-tight confines of his slacks, the swollen head straining against the damp fabric where precum had already bled through.

his hands flailed uselessly at his sides before gripping the cushions like a lifeline, knuckles bleaching white, fingers trembling. he was terrified to touch you, because what if he ruined it? what if he crossed a line? 

but he was equally terrified not to, because every inch of him screamed to hold you, to clutch at your hips, to pull you closer. caught between the two, he clung to the couch as though it might ground him while his entire world tilted off its axis.

“shit,” he whispered, voice cracking so badly it almost wasn’t a word. “this is—fuck, this is—”

your body chain caught the strobing light as you leaned in, the flash of silver burning his retinas before your lips brushed the shell of his ear. he flinched at the ghost of your breath, chest heaving like you’d branded him.

“relax, professor,” you murmured, voice low and cruelly soothing. “i’ll take care of you.”

his hips jerked helplessly before he could stop them, rutting up against you like he had no control left. the motion dragged a shocked gasp out of him, and heat rushed to his face so fast it burned.

“i’m sorry—I didn’t mean—fuck, i can’t—” the words tumbled out of him in a flood, every syllable stammered, desperate to cover his shame.

“stop apologizing,” you ordered, rolling your hips slow and deliberate against the thick ridge in his pants. the drag of your body over his cock stole the air straight from his lungs. a raw sound ripped free of his throat, high and broken, somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

“just feel.”

and he did. his whole body bowed under the order. every nerve lit up sharp and electric, too much at once, like his skin was too thin for what you were doing to him. his cock strained painfully, the pressure unbearable, every throb slicking his boxers wetter. he’d been empty for months—years, really—living in silence, shutting down, failing every time he tried. now it all came roaring back with a vengeance, violent in its intensity.

“f-fuck, wait, i—i think—” his head tipped back against the couch so hard the frame rattled, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose until the neon lights fractured through the skewed lenses. “i can’t, i can’t—”

you caught his chin, grip firm, forcing his gaze back up to you. the bass rattled his ribs, but your voice cut clean through it. your eyes burned, merciless, bright with the kind of authority that stripped him bare.

“you can,” you said. every word sharp as a blade. “and you will. i’m not stopping until you’re wrecked.”

something inside him cracked wide open at that—some fragile wall he’d been clutching tight for years.

a choked whimper tore up from his throat, humiliating in its pitch, loud enough that it vanished into the club’s bassline before anyone could catch it. his cock pulsed, aching, straining so hard against the soaked fabric he thought he might spill untouched, just from the relentless grind of your hips, the heat of your body, and the way you looked at him like he was already yours.

your head tilted, lashes heavy, hands resting deliberate on his chest, nails grazing the knit of his sweater vest like you were testing the weave. “so tense,” you murmured, and the way your breath ghosted across his face made his cock lurch violently against his thigh. “doesn’t anyone ever touch you?”

the question sliced him straight open.

his throat bobbed hard. “n-no. i mean— not like this—oh fuck—”

your grin was wicked, slow, sharpened with intent. and then you rolled your hips down, devastating friction sparking white behind his eyes, and he choked on a sound that didn’t belong to him, too high, too desperate, too filthy.

“please,” he gasped, already spiraling into humiliation, voice cracking. “i—I can’t, i’ll—”

“you’ll what?” your voice was silk, smooth and cruel, unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to watch him unravel.

his head dropped back against the couch, glasses sliding down his nose, hair sticking to his damp forehead. “i’ll c-cum—” the words broke as his body jolted, thighs trembling, because you ground down again, heat and pressure tearing through him like he was on fire.

your eyes glinted, unbothered, like this had always been inevitable. “then cum.”

two words. and he broke instantly.

his hips bucked helpless, desperate, and then he was spilling in his slacks with a raw, humiliating cry that punched out of his chest before he could choke it down. hot wetness flooded the fabric, cock twitching helplessly under you as you held him there, forcing him to rut into the mess while the club roared around you.

the sound that ripped out of him was loud, cracked, raw enough that a few heads actually turned—but no one cared, everyone too busy moaning, grinding, fucking against the walls. his face burned like it was on fire, shame and bliss strangling each other in his chest, and then he collapsed back against the couch, glasses crooked, chest heaving, sweat gluing his shirt to his skin.

“oh my god,” he stammered, voice breaking, hands trembling like they didn’t know where to go. “i—I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, i couldn’t—”

“shhh.” your palm dragged deliberately across the wet patch spreading thick across his slacks. he jolted like you had electrocuted him. “wait—n-no, too much, i just—”

“you’re still hard,” you observed, voice calm, amused, a scientist noting a phenomenon.

his breath caught hard. because you were right—his cock was still rock-hard, twitching in the sticky mess, throbbing under your palm, desperate and disobedient. betrayal, unbearable shame, and molten pleasure all crashed through him until he couldn’t breathe.

“look at you,” you murmured, pressing firmer, stroking him through the soaked fabric. “your body doesn’t want to stop.”

he shook his head, thighs trembling, voice cracking. “i c-can’t—it’s too much, i can’t—”

“you can.”

his vision blurred, the world a haze of neon and bass and strangers fucking in every direction, but all of it faded into white noise compared to the heat of your hand on his ruined cock.

the sharp rasp of his zipper being pulled down cut through everything. his stomach dropped, a pit opening.

“n-no, wait—”

but you were already freeing him, dragging his cock out, and it sprang up against his stomach, fat and flushed dark, wet with his own cum. it slapped heavy against his shirt, drool-thick strings clinging to the fabric, veins pulsing down the obscene length.

his whine cracked in the back of his throat. “please, please, it’s too sensitive, i just—”

“exactly,” you purred, sweeping your thumb slow over the leaking head, and satoru almost screamed.

his hips jerked like he was trying to both push closer and pull away at the same time, and his mouth just poured nonsense, cracked babbles of: “i can’t—fuck, oh god—don’t, don’t, i’ll—please—”

you ignored him, stroking steady and merciless, fingers wrapping tight around the slick shaft, twisting just enough to make him writhe.

every stroke wrung another wrecked sound out of him—strangled moans, breathless apologies, gasps that made his face burn hotter than the neon.

“so sensitive,” you murmured, almost admiring, watching his cock pulse in your fist. “and you’re still leaking. fucking unbelievable.”

he tried, half-sobbing. “i—it’s embarrassing, i don’t—” but his protest cut off with a choked cry when your wrist twisted, dragging cum and slick in a perfect glide. “please, it’s too much—”

“you’re doing fine.”

and then, before his brain could catch up, you shifted off his lap, sliding down to your knees in front of him.

satoru’s stomach flipped so hard it felt like he might be sick. “w-wait, no, you don’t—don’t have to, you shouldn’t—”

but then your mouth closed over his cock and the world ripped out from under him.

a sharp, humiliating cry tore out of his throat, lost to the pounding bass, his glasses sliding down his nose as his whole body convulsed. “oh god, oh fuck, your—your mouth—too warm—too much—!”

heat seared through every nerve ending, your tongue flattening against the thick vein under his shaft, your lips stretching tight around his girth as you sank down. he tried to push at your shoulders, terrified, babbling broken apologies between sobs of pleasure—“i’m sorry, i can’t, i’ll cum, i can’t hold it, please, i’m gonna, please stop, i can’t—”

your nails dug into his thighs, pinning him to the couch. no escape.

he sobbed, full-bodied, chest heaving, his whole world reduced to the wet drag of your throat and the unbearable pull of being forced to endure it. every suction, every glide, every obscene slurp had him arching off the seat like you were shocking him straight through the spine.

“please—please—i’m gonna—”

and then you hummed around him, and the vibration detonated through his nerves.

he broke. his cock jerked helplessly down your throat, hot cum spilling in thick spurts, gagging him on his own cry. it ripped the breath from his lungs, left him shaking violently, glasses fogged uselessly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. the kind of sob that clawed out of him wasn’t meant for anyone else’s ears, high and raw, the sound of a man unraveling past recognition.

when you finally pulled off, his cock was still hard, still twitching, still drooling cum down the swollen length like it didn’t know the meaning of release.

you looked up at him through lashes wet with club-light, lips shining with spit and cum, a lazy smirk curling. “two.”

the word made his stomach drop through the floor.

“oh god,” he whispered, voice shredded, chest heaving like he had been drowned and dragged up again. “i can’t—i can’t, no more, it’s too much, i’m sorry—”

“look at you.” your hand wrapped him again, stroking slow, ignoring how he flinched, how his hips bucked despite his desperate pleas. “still hard. your body doesn’t know how to quit.”

he whimpered, mortified, his hands fisting so tight into the couch cushions the fabric threatened to rip.

you grabbed his chin, forced him to meet your eyes through the blur of tears. “you made a mess,” you murmured, rolling your hips so his cock twitched weakly inside you. “now it’s your turn.”

he stared, breath caught. “m-my… my turn?”

“yeah.” your smirk cut him open. “don’t you think you should take care of me too?”

the words short-circuited him. he stared like you had just rewritten physics in front of him, babbling, “w-wait, i—I’ve never—”

“exactly.” you guided his trembling hand down between your thighs, dragged his fingers straight into the slick heat, obscene and dripping.

his pupils blew wide, throat locking, a sound like prayer clawing out of him. you were soaked. his knuckles shone, drenched instantly, and the poor man nearly fainted.

“oh my god,” he croaked, voice breaking. “you’re—you’re really—fuck, you’re so wet—”

“don’t just stare.” you ground against his hand, coating his fingers more. “touch me.”

he looked wrecked, like he might cry from the pressure, but he obeyed, shaking fingers brushing tentative over your folds, clumsy and too soft. the tiny contact made your hips twitch, and his gasp was wild, like he had discovered fire.

“s-sorry! i don’t—i don’t know what i’m doing, i’ll mess it up—”

“then learn.”

and it detonated in him.

his fingers hovered like they were trespassing, trembling against the soaked heat of your cunt as though one wrong move might make you vanish. every nerve in his body screamed that he shouldn’t, couldn’t, but you were dragging him closer, guiding his hand like it was yours to command.

he swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing, breath wrecked and shaky. “i—i’ll mess it up,” he whispered, and the way his voice cracked on the words only made your thighs twitch around his wrist.

“then mess it up,” you said. “just do it.”

the smallest whimper broke out of him, almost inaudible, before he slid one finger in, too careful, too shallow. it wasn’t even enough to stretch you properly, but the slick heat that swallowed him down nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“fuck.. oh god, you’re—” he bit the words off, glasses sliding down his nose as his eyes glued to the sight of his knuckle vanishing inside you. “you’re so warm, i can feel.”

he pushed a little deeper, unsteady, like he was afraid you’d burn him. his fingertip brushed that tender spot inside, purely by accident, and the way your hips jolted made his cock jerk so violently he almost came again untouched.

“did i—did i hurt you?” he stammered, terrified, but the noise you made—a broken, needy sound—set his ears ringing.

you grabbed his wrist and pressed him deeper, until the base of his finger was buried inside you. he choked, a wrecked sound clawing out of him as your walls squeezed around him. “holy fuck. holy fuck. you’re… you’re gripping me so tight.”

his hand was shaking so badly it made the movement jerky, awkward. he tried curling his finger, the way he must have read somewhere online, but it was too stiff, too hesitant, more trial-and-error than skill. still, each clumsy drag scraped over that sensitive spot again, and your breath hitched.

he froze. “that—was that good? i—fuck, tell me it was good—”

your laugh came broken, sharp with arousal. “keep going.”

so he did. one finger turned into two, a shaky stretch that had his forehead beading with sweat, because the snug heat clamped down like it was refusing to let him go. he pushed them in with a choked groan, as though your cunt was swallowing him whole instead of just his fingers.

“oh my god—oh my god—you’re so wet, it’s dripping down my hand—” he babbled, staring wide-eyed as slick glistened across his knuckles. “fuck, you’re—your body’s sucking me in, it’s—”

he thrust clumsily, too fast, then slowed to almost nothing, lost in the rhythm, like his brain couldn’t decide between frantic and reverent. every twitch of your walls had him gasping like he was the one being fucked, his hips jerking helplessly in the air, cock smearing more cum across his ruined shirt.

and when he tried curling them again, clumsy and off-angle, he still managed to rub over that perfect spot enough to make you arch. the sight of your head falling back, lips parted, sent him spiraling.

“oh, fuck, you like that—you like my fingers—fuck, i can’t believe. i can’t believe it’s me doing this—” his voice was breaking into frantic little gasps, humiliation and awe knotted tight together. “you’re squeezing so tight, i can feel every—every flutter—fuck, i feel like i'm gonna die...”

he pumped harder, wrist slick, two fingers scissoring inside you with messy, desperate insistence. he didn’t have finesse, didn’t know how to pace himself—but he had raw need, and it showed in every frantic drag, every shuddering whimper spilling out of him as he watched you come apart.

his breath rasped in your ear, hot and frantic. “i—I don’t know if it’s right—oh god, you’re clenching so hard—I can’t tell—” his words broke into a whine when your nails dug into his shoulder.

“keep going,” you ordered.

he obeyed instantly, fumbling faster, the sloppy rhythm making obscene squelches that filled the neon-drenched air. your slick coated his knuckles, running down to his wrist, dripping onto his ruined slacks. every time he realized how wet you were, his head shook like he couldn’t believe it.

“god, it’s everywhere—you’re dripping on me—fuck, fuck, it’s so hot—” he was babbling again, voice pitched high, cock twitching helplessly against his stomach. “i don’t deserve this.”

he tried curling his fingers like before, but the angle was wrong, too shallow. he groaned in frustration, muttering, “shit, no, wait, let me—” and pulled them almost all the way out before shoving them back in, too hard, making you jolt.

your gasp made him panic. “d-did I hurt you? oh god, I hurt you, I’m sorry—”

“shut up and do it again,” you snapped, hips bucking down to meet his hand.

his eyes rolled back, a wrecked sound clawing out of him. “fuck, you’re unreal...”

he started thrusting harder, less finesse, more instinct. the blunt force of his fingers wasn’t precise, but it was relentless, pumping fast enough that your thighs quivered against his wrist. he stared down, fascinated and horrified, at the way your slick gushed around him, his hand disappearing into the mess of your cunt.

“oh god, you’re soaking me—fuck, I can hear it, it’s so loud.”

the wet squelches spurred him on, and even when his pace faltered, his desperation filled the gaps. his palm slapped clumsily against your clit once, making you jolt with a sharp cry, and the sound broke him.

“there? was that—oh fuck, I did something right, didn’t I?”

he pressed again, rubbing his palm awkwardly over your clit while still driving his fingers inside. the angle was messy, his hand shaking too much, but the added friction made your hips grind against him without thinking.

your body betrayed you first, tightening hard around his fingers, the wet clutch of your cunt dragging him deeper. his eyes went wide, lips parting in shock. “you’re—oh my god, you’re close...”

his voice cracked into a whimper as he worked you harder, clumsy but relentless, pumping fast enough that your slick sprayed his wrist, coating his hand in shine. your nails raked down his back, and he sobbed, hips bucking into the air like he could fuck the phantom of your pleasure.

“please—please cum, I need it—oh god, g-give it to me...”

and when it finally hit, when your cunt fluttered and clamped tight around his fingers, he nearly screamed with you. your orgasm tore through you, soaking his hand, milking his clumsy thrusts as your back arched. the wet sounds doubled, tripled, until it was all you could hear under the bass.

“ohhh fuck—you’re cumming on me—on my fingers—holy shit, I’m making you—” his words spiraled into hysterics, forehead pressing to your chest as he panted. “you’re squeezing me so tight—I can feel everything... you’re so beautiful like this.”

your thighs trembled, cunt pulsing around the fingers still stuffed inside, and he looked ruined, wrecked, trembling like he was the one undone. cum smeared his shirt from his earlier release, but his cock still twitched angrily against his stomach, fat and flushed and desperate.

and still, his hand didn’t stop moving, fingers writhing inside you, like he was terrified to let you go.

“you’re still squeezing me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “it feels so good, I can’t… I don’t know how to stop.”

your body twitched under him, nerves raw, clit throbbing with every accidental brush of his palm. overstimulation began to crawl up your spine, that unbearable mix of ache and need that had your thighs clamping tight around his wrist. you tried to twist away, but he followed, his mouth hanging open, eyes glazed as he watched his fingers vanish into your dripping heat again and again.

“you’re dripping all over me,” he babbled, almost hysterical, his cheeks flushed scarlet. “it’s everywhere… you can cum again, right? you can, I know you can. your body feels like it wants to.”

the sloppy pressure of his palm ground over your clit again, and your back arched helplessly. a broken sound tore out of you, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“yes, yes, there, that’s it,” he gasped, tears beading the corners of his eyes. “you feel so good on my fingers, I’ll do anything, just cum for me again, please.”

your walls clenched down brutally, and the orgasm ripped through you a second time, shorter, sharper, leaving your thighs shaking against his shoulders. you could hear the slick gush around his fingers, feel the mess smeared down his wrist.

satoru almost sobbed. “you really did… you came again on me. I can feel you everywhere. you’re perfect.”

he finally slowed, dragging his fingers out and staring in awe at how drenched they were, cum and slick coating him up to the knuckles. his cock twitched violently against his ruined shirt, leaking like he hadn’t already spilled earlier.

he looked up at you then, wrecked and trembling, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. his glasses were sliding down his nose, crooked, making him look even more like the flustered professor you knew.

“I… I want more,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “I want to be inside. please. I need it.”

the confession hit like a blow, his tone frantic but sincere, eyes wide with a kind of fear that came from desperation rather than doubt. he looked at you like you were his last chance at salvation.

“you want to fuck me here? in the club?” you teased, dragging your slick fingers down his chest.

his head bobbed in a shaky nod. “yes. I don’t care if they watch. I don’t care about anything. I need you. I’ve never—” his throat caught, and he forced the words out, trembling. “I’ve never wanted anything this much in my life.”

his cock pressed heavy and flushed against your stomach, twitching, leaking, obscenely hard in spite of everything. he wrapped a hand around the base like he was trying to steady it, but it only made it look bigger, angrier, every vein standing out against the flushed skin.

he met your eyes, broken and pleading. “tell me how. tell me what to do. I’ll try, I promise.”

satoru lined himself up with both hands, knuckles white, the fat weight of his cock slapping heavy against your stomach as he tried to steady it. his glasses had slid so far down his nose they were practically useless, but he didn’t dare push them back up—he needed both palms just to keep himself in place.

“god, it’s—fuck—it’s huge, it won’t…” his voice cracked, shaking apart as the flushed head dragged through your slick folds. every pass caught on your entrance, smearing cum and spit everywhere, and his hips jerked like a nervous tic. “I can feel the heat, I can feel you pulling me in already—I’m not gonna last if I even—if I just—”

you reached down and wrapped your hand around him, guiding the tip exactly where you wanted it. his whole body jolted like you’d stuck a live wire to his skin.

“wait—no, don’t, don’t guide me, I’ll lose it if you—ahh—” the words dissolved into a sharp, humiliating cry as you pushed him forward, the swollen head breaching your cunt with a brutal stretch.

his glasses fogged instantly, his jaw dropping open. “oh, fffuck, I’m in—I’m really—oh god, you’re strangling me, I can’t, it’s too tight—”

the stretch bordered on unbearable, your walls aching around him as he struggled to sink deeper. his chest heaved, every muscle straining, like he was trying to hold himself back but couldn’t.

“you’re so hot—so hot and wet—oh fuck, it hurts, but it’s good, it’s so good—I don’t deserve this, professors don’t—don’t belong inside—students—oh god—”

you dug your nails into his ass and dragged him down. he sobbed out loud, high-pitched and broken, as inch after inch forced its way inside, until his hips finally slammed flush with yours.

your stomach bulged with the shape of him, the obscene outline of his cock stretching you open, pulsing, twitching.

satoru collapsed against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, shaking all over. “I—I can’t breathe. you’re so full, you’re choking me—I mean, you’re choking my cock—your walls are squeezing like you’ll never let go. I’m gonna cum, I’ll cum just from this, I swear—”

he pulled out clumsily, only a few inches, then drove back in with no rhythm. the couch squeaked, your ass slapping wetly against his thighs.

“sorry—sorry, I can’t slow down—I’m trying, I swear, but it feels too good, too good, I’ll die if I stop—”

his thrusts were messy, frantic, slamming deep one moment and grinding crooked the next. every push punched air from your lungs, every drag scraped your clit against his pelvis in ragged bursts of friction.

his face above you was wrecked, flushed crimson, mouth hanging open, glasses sliding halfway down his nose. “you’re—so beautiful—so filthy—under me—oh god, don’t kick me out, please don’t—I’ll do anything—”

then his cockhead clipped something inside you, that raw spot that made your hips jolt. his breath caught like he’d heard the sound of a miracle.

“there—oh fuck, I hit it, didn’t I?—that little jump, that was it—I’ll do it again, I’ll keep hitting it, I’ll make you cum, I’ll make sure—”

he hammered in with wild urgency, aiming clumsy but determined. the couch banged against the floor, his heavy balls smacking wet against your ass, every sound swallowed by the roar of the club around you.

“you’re gripping me so hard—I can’t think—I’m gonna cum, I’m already there, I can’t stop it, I can’t—oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

your cunt swallowed him greedily, obscene squelches rising up each time his hips slammed flush against yours. every thrust ground the fat head of his cock against your cervix, a bruising battering that made your toes curl and your belly clench, and satoru couldn’t stop babbling through it.

“oh fuck, it’s so deep—you’re letting me fuck your womb, I can feel the way you’re choking me from the inside out—I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t let me...”

you dug your nails into his back, dragging red streaks down his pale skin, and the sound that ripped out of him was high and shattered. when his head dropped against your neck, you caught him by the chin, forcing his tear-streaked face up toward you.

“look at me,” you ordered, tightening your thighs around his waist until he shuddered. “look at how pathetic you are.”

his eyes were wet, lashes clumped, glasses hanging useless on the edge of his nose. he tried to nod, but your hand suddenly wrapped around his throat, squeezing just enough to cut his breath.

he choked, a ragged, broken sob spilling out of his chest, hips bucking violently forward as if the denial of air short-circuited every nerve in him.

“you like that?” you hissed, your grip firm on his throat as your other hand fisted in his hair, holding him still. “you like being choked while you fuck me?”

his answer was a garbled, desperate moan, body trembling, cock twitching inside you as if it wanted to cum from the grip alone. tears spilled hot down his cheeks, streaking his flushed skin, and you licked the salt off his jaw before slapping his face lightly, just enough to make him whine.

“fuck, you’re gonna make me cum again,” you hissed, nails biting into his scalp, dragging him down into a bruising kiss. your cunt squeezed him tighter, wringing him, dragging him to the edge with you.

he whimpered against your lips, babbling, “please  cum with me—need you to cum, need to feel it...”

your body arched, shuddering, as you broke on him, the world collapsing into white heat, your cunt clamping down hard enough to make his cock jerk violently inside you. the wet spasm milked him, and he screamed into your mouth, a guttural, broken sound, cock spilling hot, thick cum straight into your womb.

it was endless—pulse after pulse flooding you, until it leaked out around the thick shaft still stuffing you full. your stomach bulged under the sheer stretch of him, throbbing with every twitch, every shudder.

and then, finally, his body faltered. his thrusts lost rhythm, stuttering weakly before slowing to nothing. his cock softened inside you, still dripping, still plugged deep in your cunt even as his chest collapsed against yours.

the overstimulation left him raw, twitching, tears drying sticky on his cheeks. his hands clutched at you like he was drowning, sobbing quietly against your collarbone.

when you finally lifted your hips and slid off him, his cock slipped free with a wet, humiliating squelch, soft but still leaking thick ropes of cum that spilled down his thighs and yours, soaking the couch beneath you.

he whimpered at the loss of your heat, face burning, unable to meet your eyes.

and you just sat back, catching your breath, watching his ruined cock twitch feebly against his stomach, cum still drooling from the slit.

“look at you,” you said, voice low and sharp. “you did cum with me. barely.”

satoru sobbed once, a raw, involuntary sound that seemed to tear itself straight out of his chest. he looked wrecked, utterly destroyed, glasses crooked and fogged, sweat dampening the pale hair that clung to his forehead. cum still streaked across his lap, staining the fabric of his slacks, sticking to his ruined shirt, obscene evidence of what he’d been reduced to. professor, mentor, supposed genius—nothing but a trembling mess sprawled out under your control.

his mouth moved before his mind caught up, words spilling unfiltered, sharp with shame. “fuck, I… I ruined you. ruined everything. I couldn’t even—couldn’t even finish right.” his throat worked hard around the confession, bobbing visibly, his eyes glossing with frustrated tears as they darted away from yours. “what kind of man does that?”

you didn’t let him spiral. your hand rose, steady and deliberate, cupping his jaw, dragging his flushed face back toward you until there was nowhere else for him to look. the heat of his skin pulsed under your palm, damp with sweat and spit, his cheek slick from where tears had already carved tracks.

around you the club was chaos—moans tearing through the air, wet slaps of bodies colliding, a burst of laughter that faded into the heavy pulse of bass. the sounds were relentless, every one a reminder of the filth you were drowning in, but it all blurred into meaningless noise compared to the fragile way he breathed in your hand.

“you didn’t ruin me,” you said, voice calm, cutting straight through his panic. your thumb dragged slow across his cheekbone, catching on the salt-slick there. “you made me cum. twice. you fucked me until your body gave out. that’s more than most men manage on their best night.”

his lips parted like he meant to protest, to deny, but nothing came out. only the faintest stammer of breath, a tremor of disbelief. below, his cock twitched feebly against his thigh, pitiful in its soft state, but still dribbling a last thread of cum onto his lap like it hadn’t learned the word surrender.

“look at me, professor.”

your command sliced through him, sharper than the bass, sharper than his own shame, and his head snapped up without thought. his eyes met yours—wet, wide, drowning in their own storm.

“you did fine,” you murmured, low and steady, letting the words settle into him like weight on his chest. “better than fine. you gave me everything you had.”

the praise landed like a strike. he broke under it in a way he hadn’t under overstimulation or pressure or even your hand at his throat. his shoulders shuddered hard, tremors rippling down his long frame, his lips pressing tight like he was holding something back. for a moment you thought he might collapse fully, burst into sobs right there in your hands.

instead, with a clumsy desperation, he reached for you. his big, shaking hand grabbed yours and dragged it to his chest, pressing it flat over the rapid, chaotic beat of his heart. it stuttered and jumped against your palm, frantic, like it was trying to leap free from his ribs.

“i—thank you,” he whispered, voice shredded, trembling so badly it was almost inaudible under the music.

“thank you for… for letting me—” his words cracked, splintered. he couldn’t force the last part out, couldn’t say the word fuck, not when his voice was already breaking like prayer, like confession.

behind you, a girl moaned loud against the wall, the guttural sound drowned in the brutal rhythm of her partner’s hips slamming into her. another man stumbled past, cock already out, jerking frantically into his fist as though the world outside this neon blur didn’t exist.

satoru’s hands shook as he reached for you, as if instinct alone was dragging him forward. his palm brushed your thigh, slick and trembling, trying to swipe away the mess he’d left. but his fingers only smeared it further, dragging cum across your skin in wet streaks.

“i should—” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “i should clean you up. i can’t just leave you like this. i—fuck, i made such a mess.”

you caught his wrist before he could fumble further, his knuckles shining with your slick. his pale lashes fluttered, frantic, like he expected you to scold him.

“relax,” you said, tone steady. “this isn’t your problem.”

his lips parted. “it is—”

“no, satoru.” you pressed, and the firmness in your voice made him flinch. “i work here. this is my job. the mess, the neon, the moans, the way people look at me—this is all mine. not yours to fix.”

his throat bobbed hard, adam’s apple jerking as he looked at you like the ground had just opened under his feet. he wanted to argue—god, every nerve in him screamed to argue—but nothing came out.

instead, he pulled back his hand slowly, staring at the shine of cum and spit coating his skin, at the sticky threads clinging between his fingers. his cock gave a feeble twitch, soft but still too heavy against his thigh, betraying him even in shame.

you leaned in, brushing his glasses back onto his face, straightening them where they’d slid crooked. “go home, professor. get some rest.”

something in the way you said it—gentle, final—cut straight through him.

he nodded, small, shaky. “right. yes. of course.”

he tried to stand, but his knees nearly buckled under his own weight, and he had to grab the couch to steady himself. his sweater vest clung damp to his chest, stained with sweat and cum.

he fumbled with his slacks, hands clumsy and shaking as he tried to shove his cock back inside. the length was soft now, heavy and sticky against his palm, smeared with spit and dripping the last of his release down his wrist. every brush of fabric dragged a shiver out of him, too sensitive, too raw, until he hissed through his teeth. 

he finally managed to tuck himself away, the wet patch blooming darker over his crotch, his obscene girth still bulging obvious through the ruined fabric. shame burned through him—anyone who looked would know exactly what had happened.

satoru glanced at you once more, words forming and dying on his tongue. he wanted to tell you how beautiful you’d looked, how you’d ruined him in ways he didn’t know he could be ruined, how every moan you’d wrung out of him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

but he only managed a strangled, “i'll see you at school,” before he turned away.

the bass swallowed him as he slipped toward the exit, shoulders hunched, shame and guilt and unspent desire burning a hole in his chest.

behind him, you stayed perched on the ruined couch, legs still sticky with his cum, eyes glinting in the neon haze.

satoru didn't look back.

You tried to flirt with her, as you always did when you got in close proximity to her, but as usual, she just grunted as you told her your horrible pick-up lines. Shortly afterwards Ran arrived, and they joined the table. At that point Sevika was demolishing you in the game. You flirted with Ran too, who flirted back as they always did. Mostly you goofed around with these flirting, you knew you had no chance with either of them.

And well, there you were, a few hours later, butt naked in Sevika’s apartment, at your back Ran, who was already two fingers deep in your hungry pussy, and in front of you Sevika, who was sucking your tits heatedly.

Your hips twitched as Ran started to stroke your g-spot with their fingers. Sevika looked up at you and pushed you back to the bed.

“Slow down, Ran. I wanna enjoy her before she becomes a mess.” Sevika said with a demanding tone. She caressed your lower belly with amusement.

“Not my fault, she is so sensitive.” Ran laughed. They moved in and out of you lazily. Your cheeks were burning, you felt embarrassed.

“Sorry, I just, never… never been…” you stuttered. “Never been with two persons before.” you admitted.

“Too many hands, and your brain short circuited?” Sevika asked you with a low chuckle.

“And boobs… and pussy.” you mumbled. Sevika and Ran let out a heartfelt laugh. Your cheeks were hotter than hell. Your brain started to malfunction the moment you felt a pair of breasts on your back and your stomach too.

Sevika grabbed your jaw with her metal hand and squeezed it: “Well then, let us show you something.” she smirked. You were just staring into her silver eyes, you were oblivious to what was coming. Her hand from your belly wandered down, and she slipped a finger into your hole while Ran was still inside you with two digits. A loud moan escaped your throat. Sevika moved your head, so you could look at your poor cunt. Your brain couldn’t comprehend what you saw and what you felt. Two hands were moving in your pussy with three fingers, one metal hand surrounded your neck, another metal hand squeezed one of your painfully hard nipples. And beside those, a mouth and a tongue were playing with your nipple, and another mouth was biting your neck and ear.

“How does it feel?” Ran pointed the question at you. Sevika released your nipple, her face was just an inch away from yours.

“Do tell us.” she encouraged you. You opened your mouth, you tried to answer but all you could do was whimper. Their hands were moving faster with your heartbeat, and as your pulse became quicker, so did they. Your nerves were tingling, your head jerked back, even though Sevika was holding your neck, and she held you firmly.

“Not yet.” Ran whispered to your ear and both pulled out their fingers.

“Noo!” you cried out. You reached out to play with your clit, but Sevika grabbed your hand.

“Bad girl.” she grunted with a smile on her face. “I assume it felt bad, because you didn’t answer.”

You moved your other hand, but Ran grabbed it and put it around the back of their neck.

“Naughty one.” they breather into your ear, and they started to play with your boob with their metal hand. “How did it feel that we were both inside of you?” they repeated their previous questions. Even the thought of it made you more aroused, but your pussy was already dripping anyway.

“Please.” you whimpered. You tried to move both of your hands, but they were holding it steadily.

“Answer us.” Sevika ordered with a commending voice. Her grip on your neck tightened.

“Good.” you moaned. “Please just…” you couldn’t finish because Sevika kissed you. She let go of your hand and slipped three fingers into your throbbing and wet cunt. Her fingers were thicker than Ran’s, and with three digits inside you, you wailed into her mouth. She was smirking as she pulled away. Ran relentlessly tickled your nipple, kissed and bit your neck and your face.

“So hungry for us.” Sevika laughed as she choked you. You lifted your hips and tried to move them, but your legs were shaking so badly you fell back. Both Sevika and Ran let out a chuckle because of your weak attempt.

“Just lemme, please!” you begged much to their pleasure. With a smirk Sevika leant down to suck and kiss your skin from your lower belly down to your pussy.

You rested your head on Ran’s shoulder and closed your eyes. You felt Ran’s hard nipples on your back as they moved around to please you, you also felt Sevika hand as she was knuckles deep inside your pussy as she spoiled your skin with smooches, while she choked you with their metal hands at the same time. And on top of all of that Ran was messaging your breasts with both of their hands. As Sevika moved her fingers back to your g-spot, you came undone with a loud scream as your nervous system shut down for a moment, and you also... squirted for the first time in your life. Your cum covered Sevika’s hand and forearm just as the sheets.

“That good, huh?” Sevika chuckled. Your cheeks were burning again.

“Yes.” you said in a weak voice as you tried to recollect yourself.

“Glad to hear that.” Ran told you with a grin.

“Because we are just about to start.” Sevika added. With this, Ran grabbed your knees and pulled them up to your chest. As you were absolutely spread out you realized that Sevika had her straps on the whole time, and with a grimace she closed in on your pussy.

taglist:

These downtimes are now reserved for calming yourself. Genuine mental prep. Deep breaths and silent prayers. A short nap, if the sleepless night dragged on for far too long.

Sometimes, when you stare into space, your eyes instinctively fall on Iida. Not much has changed in his early morning routine. He still sits at his desk, reading through textbooks and writing in one of his Campus fillers. Then, when more than half of the class arrives, he starts chatting everyone up. Ten minutes before the bell, he’ll stand at the class podium to announce something or get the class in order.

“Everyone, please return to your assigned seats! Kirishima, keep your feet off the table!”

“Has everyone completed their English homework?”

“Let us do a quick rundown of the classes and activities we are expected to have today!"

Even when the class finds it annoying at times, Iida’s initiative and earnest passion for leadership bring a sense of comfort amidst the uncertainty. You’re reminded that there is still some sense of normalcy—structure, control, and community. In the middle of his spiels, you often find yourself thinking: How amazing that his physique resembles that.

Iida is rather square, both figuratively and literally. He is built like a stable foundation, meant to carry whatever weight is put on his shoulders. His sharpness stands out in the way he cuts through the air or breezes through classwork. 

It might lead one to think that he’s calm and collected. Maybe even cold. It was your first impression of him, if you had to be honest, but then he opened his mouth to greet you for the first time. 

That’s when you realized he was a little rough around the edges…and you liked it.

Iida speaks with utmost formality, yet an endearing awkwardness always bleeds through. He acts like everyone’s older brother, when he is undeniably a younger sibling at heart. 

And despite how broad and muscular he is, you believe he is the humanization of your childhood teddy bear—a thought you dare not verbalize to anyone in 1A (except Uraraka and Midoriya, maybe).

But, on one gloomy morning, you find out exactly why you think so.

You weren’t a fan of gray skies or rain. They made you want to curl up in bed all day, but it’s not like you had the luxury of doing so, not with today’s heroics assessment. It was frustrating enough that you were nervous—you couldn’t get rid of the gut feeling that your training wasn’t enough. 

The weather just had to match your mood.

Sighing, you start your half-hour walk to UA. Even with a large umbrella, some droplets still manage to soak your uniform. No matter how many puddles you avoid, you feel your socks growing wet. Ugh.

Once you arrive at the 1A classroom, you drag your chair out and plop down in your seat. The impact, accompanied by the thud of your bag, startles Iida.

You nearly think that this warrants a small lecture on taking care of school property, but then his eyes widen and he gasps. “Oh, you’re here! Good morning, dear classmate.”

“Good morning, Iida! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright. You can just be more careful next time.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Though you are usually careful, anyway.”

You nod at him in acknowledgement. Taking off your jacket, you decide that you are ready to spend the next hour with your head on the desk. Maybe you can nap the anxiety away.

Well, that’s what you thought. For the first time, Iida doesn’t mind his own business.

You hear him abruptly stand from his chair. Initially, you assume he’s leaving to use the bathroom or something, but suddenly his footsteps grow louder and stop right next to your table. Instantly, you lift your head. “Iida?”

He blinks at you for a few seconds, fidgeting a little before speaking. “May I ask you something? If you are not busy, of course.”

What’s this about?

“Oh? Go ahead, no worries.”

“Thank you for your reassurance.” He gives you a small grin. “I-I just, well. It has come to my attention that you have been acting a little differently.”

You take a moment to think over his observation, though your lack of reaction makes him panic.

“Not because of what happened just now!” He blurts out, waving his hands frantically. “It is not my intention to be nosy, of course, but I cannot shake the feeling that perhaps…you are not alright?”

Your breath hitches.

“I may be wrong!” Iida adds. “That is just my brother’s opinion, after all. I do not mean to assume or intrude.”

A sudden surge of heat rises to your face. He asked for his brother’s opinion?

“I suppose you are still performing rather well in class.” He taps his chin. “Perhaps you’ve just become more tired in the morning? And…”

As Iida rambles further, you think of how to respond. He’s right. The mornings are different. The overall atmosphere has shifted into something more serious. You’re pretty sure it has spread to the rest of the class as well, though they’re probably better at hiding it.

You bite down on your lip, waiting for him to pause before you ask him a question.

“Iida? What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“I- Hm? Oh. Well…” He gazes down at your table. “During the first few days of class, you always ate your breakfast at this time. But after a while, you moved to smaller snacks before stopping altogether. I initially assumed that you started eating breakfast at home. However, your energy levels in the morning seemed to contradict that.”

“Ah…”

“Furthermore, I often hear you sighing, breathing loudly, and your head is always on the table. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that, yet something about it is rather odd. I also noticed this started after the villains attacked our class at the USJ, so I presumed that might have something to do with your behavior.”

Has he been paying this much attention to you?

“Do forgive me if I have overstepped. I know these are mere hunches based on incomplete evidence. It is possible that I might have been reading too much into everything.”

“Iida, it’s alright.” You shake your head, unsure of what to say next. Even though the extra attention makes you feel a little giddy, deep down, you know it’s part of his overall concern for the class. You can’t help but feel a little guilty at the thought of adding more onto his shoulders.

“Alright? Are you certain?” He tilts his head. “My brother says I have a tendency to overthink. I feel rather restless when I leave too many questions unanswered. That is why I decided to ask how you have been feeling, so I know what the truth is. I cannot ensure the well-being of my fellow classmates if I do not know how to assist them.”

When he puts it like that…

You give him a gentle smile before averting your gaze. “Sorry to make you worry so much, Iida. Um, well, your hunches aren’t…far off.”

“Oh?” He perks up, a little surprised. What initially starts as relief or satisfaction from your confirmation quickly morphs into concern. “Wait. So does that mean…”

“Things have been pretty sucky,” you snort, “for lack of a better word.”

“Sucky…” He repeats, like the word is foreign on his tongue. “Horrible? Unbearable? Scary? Disappointing?”

You inhale with a hiss. “Yep.”

“Oh.” The gears turn loudly in Iida’s head as he comes to the full realization. “I am terribly sorry that is the case.”

“It’s not your fault in any way, Iida. It’s just the circumstances we have now. The stakes are high for everyone.”

“Thank you. I suppose you are right.” He hums in agreement, but he starts fidgeting again. “However, is there something I can do to help you? Anything that you might require?”

“Help me…”

Anything? What exactly could Iida do for you?

“If you need a person to talk to, I can listen.” He starts running through options. “Or would you like me to talk to Aizawa-sensei for you? Oh, or would you like to eat breakfast together in the morning? Um…”

Although you appreciate Iida’s earnest desire to come up with solutions, everything still feels overwhelming. You don’t feel like tearing your brain cells apart, not when your heart is struggling to make sense of itself. 

Maybe all you need right now is for someone to validate how you are feeling—emotional first aid in the form of comfort.

“Iida?”

“Yes?”

“May I have a hug?”

For a few seconds, Iida opens his mouth, but no words come out. You briefly wonder if you’ve broken him, but he eventually stammers, “A-A hug?”

You nod. “I hope it’s not a weird request.”

“No! It is not weird at all. It is an acceptable request, just not one I was expecting.” Iida scratches the back of his neck as he steps back a little bit.

“Thanks.” You rise from your seat. “I still need some time to think about the exact kind of help I need. For today, I’m really nervous about today’s practical test, so…” 

“That is understandable. My brother always embraced me when I was nervous.” His voice wavers ever so slightly as you close the very short distance between you. “Uh, alright. H-How do you wish to-”

Your head feels fuzzy as you look at his arms, wide open and inviting. Your head only comes up to his chest, so you turn your face to one side, trying your hardest to avoid combusting. When you finally wrap your arms around his torso, he does the same. Instantly, his warmth envelops you from front to back.

And, oh.

Oh man.

In his hold, you realize that Iida Tenya is sturdy, yet soft. Strong, yet gentle. He is a force to be reckoned with, but he is safe.

And it’s not long before you hear the soft thumps of his heartbeat—the feeling is just as wonderful as the romance books claim. It’s a very real reminder that you have someone by your side as the storm rages on; the steady rhythm is enough to drown out the thunderous doubt and pessimism.

For once, your mind is quiet. It’s almost like you’re back in your bedroom, five years old, holding your stuffed bear tight to your chest without a worry in the world.

When you recall the comparison between your cherished childhood companion and your class representative, you nearly giggle. They really are alike, especially in the way that they never pull away first.

You never bother to count how many minutes pass, how many times Iida’s heart beats, or how many curious classmates have arrived and stared. All you know is that he waits patiently until you can finally stand on your own feet again.

“Thank you,” you whisper as the two of you separate.

“Of course. Any time.”

When you look outside the window, the sun still hasn’t come out to shine. It’s not ideal weather, but at least the rain has stopped.

trying to get a closer look at the crossword, he sits up, nearly swearing out loud from the sharp pain shooting up his left side. his heart mointor goes wild, the silence of the room broken, when he instinctively pulls down his blanket to see a nasty gash along his side.

within a few seconds, he hears hurried footsteps down the hallway and the door slams open.

"you're awake." you say, relieved. you almost sound like you're about to cry, which he finds strange, but chalks it up to you being a very attentive doctor.

the next thing he notices is that you're really pretty. the kind of pretty that would have made him blush profusely in his 20s and stoically stare at from a distance in hopes that you'd make a move first. you smell like daisies and fresh rain; you smile at him so dazzingly that his words turn to mush.

you then suddenly rush towards him, tossing your clipboard onto the chair, before grabbing his face and kissing him. his mind short circuits at the sudden contact, face flushing red at the unsolicited kiss. his whole body is buzzing with electricity, your sticky lipgloss staining his lips, and he almost has to surpress his whine when you pull away looking confused.

"...are you alright?" you question him, noticing your husband seems more quiet and stiff than usual.

nanami coughs awkwardly, attempting to calm his beating heart.

"i... i'm not sure how professional it is to kiss your patients, doctor." he says earnestly, but you (to his surprise) laughs him off.

"oh come on, nanami. you're acting like it's the first time." you quip, shaking your head sideways.

he's genuinely confused.

"is it not?"

you open your mouth again, ready to give him a sassy remark, but the words die in your mouth when you see that serious glint in his eyes.

lack of sleep before the mission. blunt force trauma to the head. submersion in freezing water for five minutes before geto could pull him out.

all things, logically speaking, which could result in temporary amnesia.

"you're... you're joking, right?" you trail off, hoping for even a flicker of amusment on his face. "please say you're joking."

his heart breaks at how desparate your tone becomes, but no matter how hard he tries to remember, he can't seem to find you amongst his memories.

"i-i'm sorry. do we... know each other?"

there's a beat of silence as his question hangs heavy in the air. you seem to swallow nervously, eyes shifting down to the floor as if you're lost in thought before you look back up at him with an unreadable look on your face.

"what'd you think?" you mumble quietly, raising your left hand. a diamond ring with rose details shines back at him, and suddenly nanami can feel the weight of a ring on his own left hand.

but before he can respond, a nurse is calling for you.

"I'll be back in a bit. just... eat something and rest, okay?"

nanami has so many questions he wants to ask you, his wife that he can't remember, but you're gone in an instant with an apologetic look.

what lingers is your smell, your perfume haunting the room for hours before he eventually falls back asleep.

his head plagued with questions.

==================

it's been three days since he's woken up.

so far, you've been in his room daily to monitor his vitals, ask him the usual questions (how have you been eating, any odd pain, do you need your sheets changed), and swap out the usual hospital food with his favorite foods. he suppresses the urge to ask how you know what he wants to eat so easily, and it becomes clear that you're putting in an effort to keep your distance from him.

you no longer smile wide and bright as you did the first time he saw you, your lips always pressed in a professional smile and your body never hovering closer than a few inches from him.

he misses you. there's an odd ache in his body when you're near, like he's trying to hold onto a ghost from his past that's too close and too far from him at the same time. he swears he still tastes your lipgloss when he anxiously licks his lips, which drives him even more insane.

he manages to get a few answers out of you during the routine checks. he asks anything, in hopes it'll spark his memories, but also because he can't stand the silence in the room.

the heavy tension as you avoid his gaze, whilst simultaneously staring at him from the corner of your eyes whenever you're in the room.

"where do we live?"

"fifteen minutes from ueno."

"how long till i get discharged?"

"depends on your vitals, but i'd say maybe another 36 hours."

"are you taking care of yourself?" nanami can't help but ask you that one day, when you look particularly tired and drained.

you give him a weary smile, nodding weakly.

"mostly. don't worry, our neighbours are keeping an eye on yuki."

his throat runs dry at that answer, his mind suddenly flashing with imaginations of a young girl the spitting image of you and nanami.

"yuki? is that... our daughter?" he asks carefully, his heart racing.

your eyes become so wide and you nearly choke on your spit.

"oh! uh... no. yuki's our cat. she's a really sweet, white cat we adopted from a shelter a few months back. she's two." you trail off, feeling guilty. "sorry, I forgot that you would've forgotten that yuki is our cat too."

nanami just quietly thanks you and doesn't press the subject further.

but the image of yours and his fictional daughter lingers.

true to your word, nanami gets his clean bill of health confirmed the next day and his belongings are returned to him in a meticulous manner. changing out of his hospital gown, his old clothes feel foreign against his skin.

staring at himself in the mirror, he traces every curve and dip on his face in an attempt to spark a memory. he knows his name. his friends. dreadfully, his work. but the past two years feels like a blank in his memory, ripped out pages of an incomplete sketchbook.

splashing water onto his face, he steps out the bathroom, feeling more on edge than ever. whilst waiting for you in the reception room, he can't help himself from nervously adjusting his cuff links and fiddling with his tie.

because he's going home. with you.

"ready?" you ask, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you've changed out of the uniform he's gotten so used to seeing - now in a loose tank top with a cherry print on it and form fitting jeans. your lipgloss has become more sheer through out the day, and you're wearing less mascara than usual.

"you look beautiful." he comments, without really thinking it through. you seem embarrassed by the compliment, ducking your head to avoid his gaze.

"thank you, kento."

he purses his lips at the mention of his last name. it doesn't feel right, even if he doesn't know you as well as you know him.

"please call me nanami."

you open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off.

"please." he nearly whispers it, and you can't find it in your heart to refuse him.

"okay."

he wordlessly takes your bag from your shoulder, trailing behind you as you walk towards your car in the parking lot. he also refuses to let you open the car door by yourself, placing his spare hand on the ceiling so you won't bump your head as you sit down.

it's so routine, you almost forget that he doesn't remember anything.

and he stills sits in the seat next to you, not the back seat. and he switches the radio to the station he'd always listen to, without being prompted to.

"are you alright?" nanami questions, noticing how your eyes are becoming watery.

you're barely able to croak out that you're fine before pulling out of the driveway, your thoughts a complete mess on the drive home.

==================

"this is the living room.... we had a bit of an argument over what color to paint the walls but we eventually settled on sage green because it's calming. though-" you chuckle, mostly to yourself. "you always insisted it wasn't an argument because you'd always let me win."

it's strange, for nanami, getting a tour of his own house. but he dutifully follows behind you, nodding along to each of your descriptions, analysing every nook and cranny of the apartment.

the kitchen is sleek but homey. DIY tiles, vintage kitchenware, vase of sunflowers in the middle of the table.

the bathroom is small but clean. his aftershave and razor sits untouched next to your bottles of perfume and makeup brushes. a crinkled book settled by the bath tub tells him that you're a fan of reading in the bath.

the office room is busy but organized, stacked high with books and files belonging to him. there's a few odd artifacts here and there - souvenirs from travels abroad, you say - and he spots a photo frame with you hugging him from behind. the scenery says malaysia, but he can't make out the exact date of the photo.

"and this... is the bedroom." you wait for him to look around the room by himself, standing at the doorway awkwardly as you wait for the right thing to say.

it's nearly 11pm now, and you're so tired that you want nothing more than to curl up next to him and sleep.

but that would be highly inappropriate, you reason, given that he's a stranger now.

"i've already laid out your clothes for the night on the corner of the bed." you explain slowly. "i've already taken out my stuff for the night, so don't worry."

he spins around and stares at you, confused.

"but then where would you be sleeping?"

you shrug, trying to come off nonchalant.

"i figured you'd want to sleep alone on your first night. what with the temporary amnesia and all." even the word amnesia leaves a sour taste on your mouth as you admit it out loud. "i can sleep on the couch in the living room, it's fin-"

nanami shakes his head sideways immediately.

"nonesense. no lady should be sleeping on a sofa. i'll take the couch, you should take the bed."

"are you-"

"yes, i'm completely sure. i will not have you sleep outside in your own home." he replies sternly, the glint in his eyes oh so familiar. a warning sign that it's not up for debate, he's made up his mind.

"it's your home too." you respond quietly. but nanami catches it, and his stern look falls for a short second.

"i... i know, but... please. i couldn't bear the thought of you sleeping on a sofa after a hospital shift."

"okay."

after moving over a few pillows and a blanket for him to the sofa, and an awkward exchange of 'good nights', you shut the bedroom door behind you and crawl into bed.

suddenly, the bed feels too cold and empty. the blankets are overwhelmingly heavy and hot against your skin, and the ceiling fan seems to be louder than usual. the heaviness of the situation begins to set in and before you know it, you're crying.

salty tears streaking down your face, body shivering under the sheets as you grieve what you've lost.

two years of marriage - gone.

he tries to hide it, but whenver he looks at you, you feel it in your guts.

you're a stranger to him.

and now, you fear he may never remember you again.

it might've been twenty minutes. or a full hour, you're not sure.

but in the complete darkness, you can't tell the passage of time before you hear a soft knock on the door.

"it's nanami." he announces himself, as if you wouldn't know that it was him (if you were in a better mood, it'd probably make you laugh). "can i come in?"

wiping the tears from your face as fast as you can, you sit up to face the door.

"y-yes. come in."

even in the pitch darkness, you can imagine nanami's beautiful face scrunching up in worry, his figure slowly moving towards you in the dark.

"i heard you crying." he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice nearly threatens to break you again.

"i'm sorry, i should've been more quiet." you reply, as he sits down on the bed across from you.

"it's fine, i.... fuck, it's not fine."

you blink in surprise, knowing that it was rare to hear nanami swear.

"of course it's not fine, i can't imagine how painful this whole ordeal must be for you. you've been incredibly strong and brave to tolerate me this long. i am just amazed that i would've managed to land someone like you as my wife."

you want to respond, but all you can feel is the wave of sadness rushing over you again, his sweet words piercing your heart like daggers.

"i... i can't sleep." you whisper into the night. it feels easier to admit it when it's dark, and you can't see how intensely he'd be looking into your eyes, as if he's staring into your soul.

"could i stay with you?" nanami asks, before clarifying. "until you fall asleep."

"you can stay for as long as you want."

his weight leaves the mattress for a moment before he settles down next to you, his familiar cologne washing over your senses.

"can i... hug you?" he asks, voice so gentle, as if he's afraid you're going to break at any moment.

"yes please." you manage to get out, before you're full on sobbing again, staining his shirt with your tears. his arms are now around your back as he scoops you onto his chest, his rough fingers drawing soothing circles on your back. his lips find his way to the crown of your head, and he wishes nothing more but to take some of the pain away from you.

but he can't.

"i'm so, so sorry love." he whispers against your head, lips trembling. "i wish i could remember."

you don't respond, rather, you can't. he's hugging you in bed like everything's normal. he's speaking to you as if he's your nanami, your husband, the same nanami who would bring home pastries on his way back from work and take baths with you on nights you couldn't sleep.

eventually, you feel emptied out of your tears, your limbs finally feeling heavy. his steady heartbeat against your ears lulls you to sleep, your fingers naturally grasping his thin shirt, crinkling the fabric.

"don't leave." you whisper, half-asleep.

"i won't." he whispers back, hugging you closer.

that's the last confirmation you need before your breathing evens out and he's sure you're asleep, your chest rising and falling in regular rhythms.

and despite nanami's eyes begging to close, his mind feels wide awake and sleep won't come to him easily. his nerves are on fire as he hugs you closer to his frame.

looking at your face in the dark, the small green glow of the alarm clock carving shadows onto your face, he presses a small kiss to your forehead and swears to himself he'll remember.

he'll die trying if he has to.

a/n: second ever fic on this blog! i was feeling angsty/slow burn today so wanted to give the loss memory trope a try. seriously am a sucker for pining gentleman!nanami. apologies for any medical inaccuracies in this fic btw i'm not a med student/professional so i googled a few things and called it a day lmao. lowkey tempted to write a part 2 to this if this does well :)

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

There’s something tugging at Sevika.

She’s already scanned the room for what it could be, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. The booth she routinely occupies at The Last Drop feels no different than it ever has, the playing cards and poker chips littering the rickety wooden table in front of her are just as beat up as they always are, and her drunken opponents are as easy to beat as ever.

She’s slouched back against the wall behind her, brows furrowed and eyes trained on the half-empty glass of whiskey dampening its paper coaster. The anticipation buzzing around her shouldn’t feel so foreign; the woman’s M.O. is to be at attention, at all times, with no exceptions. Still, there's a hum of urgency that's much louder tonight than usual. Something is telling her-something is demanding her-to remain alert, attentive, ready to be of service.

Her flesh hand twitches, fingers squeezing around the rim of the glass she holds for a split second.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She can’t put her finger on who it could be, or why it could be, so she taps at the glass’s rim with it instead.

A voice, gruff after nearly a lifetime of smoking, pulls her from her concentration on ripples running through liquid amber.

“You even payin’ attention?” The ash of his cigar falls onto the table as the hand that holds it gestures towards her chips.

On an ordinary night, she’d shoot the shit. Give him a playful scoff. Tell him that she wasn’t paying attention at all, and somehow, she was still kicking his ass.

But, despite the normalcy of The Last Drop’s Friday night debauchery, despite the inventory she’d taken of her surroundings telling her that everything should be okay, she still can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

It’s pulling her to her feet now. She downs the rest of her whiskey as she stands, mumbling something about everyone splitting her earnings evenly as she walks off. Her opponents are left entirely confused and a little bit richer as they watch her stride away with her usual purpose.

Where this pull is taking her, she has no idea. Frankly, she doesn’t care. She no longer feels her stomach wrenching as she tries to fight off the force yanking at her cloak, begging her to go wherever she’s going now. With every step, there is clarity.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She's getting closer to them. With every step she takes, she finds that her lungs are easier to fill now that she knows this person needn’t worry any longer.

When she ends up at your door, her entire body melts on exhale.

Of all the people in the world, there’s no one else she’d rather be needed by.

Be it the chaos that had ensued just before meeting you for the first time, or the way you seemed to calm her stormy seas at first glance, she remembers it like it was yesterday.

She remembers swinging the bakery’s door open in a panic, eyes wide and wild as they hurriedly scanned the room for a head of fluffy hair dyed blue.

“I’ve got her,” a voice rang out. A voice like honey to match your honeysuckle scent, she immediately noted.

You stood behind the counter, placing a piping bag down and wiping your hands on your blush-colored apron with a shy smile.

Lo and behold, there sat Isha, perched on the marble countertop next to you. She stared up at Sevika with big, innocent eyes; far too innocent for a girl who’d just escaped Sevika's grasp and booked it to the bakery she’d been begging to visit for weeks now.

“She’s quick,” you chortle. “Sugar may not have been the best idea, now that I think of it…”

You look over at the small girl whose mouth was now opening as wide as it could go to take a bite of the blueberry muffin you’d given her. It was too late. She was hooked and sure as shit to be bouncing off of the walls, now.

Sevika’s eyes trail from the crumbs stuck to Isha’s lips to the affectionate smile gracing your own. It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she was hooked, too.

That was nearly a year ago, now. Trips to the bakery slowly but surely changed from Isha’s demand to Sevika’s suggestion. Eventually, Sevika began visiting on her own; before work to get a coffee, during her breaks to grab a cheese danish, after work to pick up a blueberry muffin for Isha.

It would have been less-than-chivalrous if she hadn’t begun offering to hang around until you closed shop so she could walk you home, would have been impolite to decline the Sunday afternoon taste-testing sessions you’d started inviting her over for.

She’s a gentlewoman. It’s only principle. That’s what she tells herself, at least.

That’s what she tells herself as her knuckles tap thrice on your door.

She starts to feel antsy again when you don’t come bounding to the door as usual, when your honeyed voice doesn't call out that you’ll be right there. She worries even more when you do reach the door, but it doesn’t swing open to reveal a bright smile, a pretty girl covered in flour and smelling of vanilla. Instead, you flick the deadbolt to the right, trail back to your room, and leave the door unlocked for her to enter of her own accord.

Her stomach turns like the doorknob she’s grasping, but as soon as the door opens, she knows what’s wrong.

The blossom of honeysuckle in the spring floats through the air. This much was a given; she knows this is what she’ll smell when she’s around you.

Tonight, though, it’s honeysuckle and something else. Something thick, hitting her like a brick wall. A white musk that nearly knocks her back when it crosses the threshold of your apartment door to meet her in the hallway.

She’s quick to step in and even quicker to close the door behind her. That scent was sure to attract unwanted visitors: Alphas looking to sink their gnashing teeth into something sweet.

She twists the deadbolt back to the left, her eyes darting across the room to find you. When that doesn’t suffice-when you’re nowhere to be seen- she follows your scent trail instead. Follows it back to your room, where her heart nearly breaks at the sight before her.

You’ve got what she figures must be every pillow in the house propped up against the headboard, every blanket you own pushed down to the foot of the bed, and you sit at the center of it all with your legs pulled into your chest, your head buried in your knees, and your arms wrapped around the ball you’ve curled yourself into.

There’s a pedestal fan pointed directly at you, despite the oversized sweater you adorn. You’re refusing to take it off, she bets. Want something soft and warm wrapped around you at all costs, even if it means you’ll sweat through it.

A soft grin spreads across her face as she approaches, slow and steady. It was her turn to calm your storm, now.

She sinks to her knees next to your bed, elbows resting on the flower-shaped throw pillow she remembers you buying when you were out shopping in the square with her one day. She’d taken a liking to it herself, always opting to rest her head on its pink petals as she stretched her long legs along the length of your couch, or holding it close to her chest as the two of you watched yet another horror movie you both knew damn well would keep you up all night.

She tries not to think too much of the fact that of all the pillows stacked upon your bed, it's the one you’ve got right next to you.

Her voice is nearly a whisper when she finally speaks, grey eyes soft and warm as they gaze up at you from her place on the floor.

“Hey, doll.”

All you manage to muster in response is a weary groan.

She exhales through her nose, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Rough heat?”

Your muffled sob cuts through the quiet, and her hand flies out to knead your thigh.

Her eyes widen in sudden consternation. Your skin is a brazier underneath her large palm.

“Janna,” she suddenly calls out, eyes frantic as they travel across your figure. “Y/n, you’re burning up. How long have you had a fever?”

She trades flesh for cold metal, anchoring her mech hand to your thigh in hopes that it’ll cool you down. Her right hand splays across your back, rubbing large circles across its expanse as you sniffle into your knees.

“Two days,” you mumble weakly, and much to her dismay.

Two days was too long for you to be in this state, nevertheless alone.

“I thought I’d have been claimed by now,” you admit, your voice wobbling.

“Don’t talk like that,” she commands. “There’s no timeline for this stuff. It’ll happen when it-”

“It’s not like that!”

Your head finally snaps up from your knees, teary eyes locking onto hers.

“It’s not… It’s not that I can’t find anyone. It’s that I can’t…”

Your voice breaks, and her hand trails up from your back to rest on the back of your neck, her thumb massaging the tightness at the base of your skull as she waits patiently for you to gather yourself.

You’re well aware that in the crux of an already grueling heat is not the best time to share an admission that very well could permanently alter your relationship with the woman you hold dearest. You’re also aware that you won’t be able to keep lying to Sevika for much longer.

You wouldn’t be able to keep lying to yourself for much longer.

Your words are still shaky despite the bracing deep breath you take before speaking.

“I can’t stand anyone else’s scent…”

Her hand stills, but her touch doesn’t falter. Her face doesn’t fall.

She’s still here. She’s still steady, still constant, but she needs you to be sure.

“Anyone else?” She asks, her voice low.

A small huff escapes you. You know Sevika. She doesn’t do vague.

She’s going to make you say it.

“I can’t stand anyone’s scent but yours.”

A pregnant pause settles in between the two of you.

And then, her hand is moving from the back of your neck to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Do you want me to help?”

You nod fervently, words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

“Want you so bad, it hurts; please, Sev, I-”

Her lips crash into yours, stealing your breath away. Your heart is already racing, your core is already throbbing, you’re already whimpering into her mouth.

It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she’d just gotten a taste.

 ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’s been hours. She’s been fucking you for hours.

You nearly feel bad for being so insatiable; only nearly, because she had made it very clear very quickly that you needn’t ever apologize for lasting so long, for needing the next round not even five minutes after the last, for wanting it faster, harder, deeper.

You needn’t ever apologize for allowing her the opportunity to take care of you.

Much to your dismay, sometimes taking care of you meant that she would slow down to check in, insist you take a breather, or get you a glass of water. Sevika knows that what you want is to be ravaged, to let your mind go all fuzzy and your body go all limp as she takes you, claims you, breeds you. Sevika knows that what you need is someone looking out for your best interest when you’re all-consumed by your heat, someone who knows that the responsibility of an alpha is to provide far more than a good fuck.

Still, she isn’t surprised that you nearly burst into tears when her pace begins to relent. Janna knows how hard it is for her to stop when you look so pretty laid out for her like this; legs thrown over her shoulders, hands desperately grabbing at firm muscle and cool metal, brows knit together in pleasure as you cry out for her.

She leans down to press a kiss to the beads of sweat forming on your hairline, and knows she needs to stop anyway.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you plead, wrapping your legs around her waist and rolling your hips up into her own, “please don’t stop, please keep going, Sev…”

She plants a kiss on your shoulder this time, the salt of sweat-sticky skin on her lips.

“You’re getting too hot, baby,” she purrs. “We’re not done, I promise. Just need to make sure you cool off for a second.”

You whine in defiance, and she hums in understanding, but you’re too fucked out to do anything but lay there and let her press a cool rag to your forehead and your flushed chest.

“You feelin’ okay, mama?”

She doesn’t miss the way your lip quirks up into the beginnings of a smirk.

“What?” She asks with a grin, bearing the gap in between her teeth. You’d told her it was cute once. The tips of her ears were dark red for the rest of the day.

“Don’t call me that,” you smile.

She just quirks a brow in playful curiosity.

“Not unless you plan on putting a baby in me.”

Her hands still. Her grin falters. For a moment, you worry that you’ve crossed a line.

Then, glittery grey irises go dark like a storm cloud rolling in. Her eyes are lidded, full of desire. Her jaw clenches, her nostrils flare, her muscles twitch for a split second.

Her head dips down to hide in your neck, but there, she finds that honeysuckle and musk hit her even harder here. You don’t miss the way her body writhes atop your own.

“Careful joking around like that,” she husks.

You buck your hips up in a challenge. “Who said I was joking?”

And then, she whines. Sevika whines.

“Couldn’t get you pregnant if I wanted to, doll,” she resigns. “I’m on suppressants.”

“That’s okay,” you coo, hands stroking up and down the length of her back, her skin warm and her muscles strong underneath your palm. “You can pretend. Jus’ want you to cum inside of me.”

This time, she growls, and you don’t miss the way her canines scrape across your pulse point.

She trails open-mouthed kisses from your neck, to your jaw, to the corner of your lips, breath shaky along the way.

Her resolve is crumbling, her restraint weakening. She had found you in need, and now, here she was, just as desperate as you had been.

“Come on, baby,” you urge, voice just over a whisper. “Take me.”

You're flipped over and pinned to the bed in a second. She yanks you up onto your knees by your waist, and her mech hand travels down your spine to push you further into the mattress while her flesh hand works to line herself up in between your legs. You gasp when you feel her sliding through your slick, whine when she presses an inch in before slipping back out and dipping down to nudge your swollen bud of nerves, groan when she finally presses into you completely, the head of her length prodding at your cervix.

She pants above you, both hands settling on your waist as she gives you a moment to adjust, and as soon as you're pushing back against her, she’s snapping her hips into you. Her grip is bruising as she pulls you back to meet every thrust. Your hands fly out to grab at the sheets next to you, your heady cries of pleasure muffled by the soft pillows piled at the head of the bed.

“How’s that? Huh?”

Her voice is gravelly from exertion. Sexier than it already is. How that’s even possible, you’re not sure. You don’t care. You can’t even think.

Sevika leans down to nip at your earlobe.

“Talk to me, baby,” she rasps. “This what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck a baby into you, hm? Wanted me to make you mine?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a yes, sobbing into the pillow. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, hiccupping against the breath you can’t seem to catch.

“I’ve got you,” she croons, her pace gentler now. “Deep breath for me, doll.”

Her flesh hand interlaces with your own, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into the meaty flesh between your thumb and your forefinger. You nod with a whimper, following her command.

“Good girl.”

She reaches down in between your slick-covered thighs to circle at your clit, rubbing lazy circles in tandem with her slow, deep strokes. She hisses at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around her, grits her teeth as she begins to speed up.

You make it so damn hard for her to keep it together, reaching up to grab the hair at the nape of her neck and pushing her head down into your shoulder. She knows exactly what you’re asking for.

Her bite.

You’re asking her to sink her teeth into sugar, and Sevika’s always had a sweet tooth.

She clenches her jaw even tighter. Takes deep breaths through her nose. Fucks you into the mattress instead.

The bite will come later. When you’re not in heat, when you’re thinking clearly, when you can comprehend that what you’re asking for is to be bound to her. When it does come- when you do ask for that- she’ll say yes. No question.

She’s been yours since the moment she walked through the bakery’s doors nearly a year ago.

But right now, she’s here to take care of you. Nothing more, nothing in return.

A voice like honey rings out like music to her ears.

“Oh- fuck, don’t stop. Mm- gonna… gonna cum…”

“That’s right, baby. Give me another, yeah?”

And when she latches onto the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, sucking just hard enough for you to feel a dull pinch, you fall apart, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

That’s when she liked her name most. When it came from you.

This time, it’s what pushes her over the edge. It’s all nearly too much; the sound of you moaning her name, your scent inundating her senses, the feeling of you tightening around her, the pulse that thrums against her canines.

Shimmer doesn’t even make her feel this feral.

You can feel her twitching against your walls as she fucks you through your release with a new vigor.

“Fuck,” she grits, “say the word and I’ll pull out.”

“Don’t.”

Sugar meets spice. Your command is stern, and Sevika is good at following orders.

She ruts into you with a broken moan, hissing with each involuntary twitch of her hips as she spills into you.

Soon, she joins you in a leaden slump, her warm body caging you in and her cock still sheathed inside of you. The hum of the pedestal fan and the rasp of your pants fill the room like white noise.

And then, you giggle. A blissed out, breathy giggle that has the corner of Sevika’s mouth quirking up into a smile.

“What?” she pants.

“Nothing. Jus’ happy.”

She hums in contentment. “Feel better?”

“Much better.”

And Sevika can’t ignore the way her heart flutters, the pride she feels knowing she was able to take care of you, the desire she has to take care of you for as long as she lives.

The bite will come later, she reminds herself. Right now, there’s just you. Sweet as honey.

“Good,” she muses. “That’s what I’m here for.”

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚──