weirdo

Husband!Nanami who wakes you up by peppering your face, neck, and shoulder with kisses until your eyes open.

Husband!Nanami who always makes you breakfast because he knows you're not a morning person and you absolutely dread making a full meal when your body feels so heavy with sleep.

Husband!Nanami who never leaves without kissing you goodbye, even when you're arguing.

Husband!Nanami who never raises his voice at you, always keeping his voice steady. When you're arguing, his voice never goes an octave above even if you're yelling at him (he secretly loves it when you yell at him, but that's neither here nor there teehee)

Husband!Nanami who helps you bathe or shower when you're tired because he loves taking care of you.

Husband!Nanami who loves to kiss your ring, especially in bed. Something about seeing a symbol of your devotion to each other really gets him going.

Husband!Nanami who carries you to bed whenever you fall asleep on the couch and tucks you in.

Husband!Nanami who always offers a bite of his food before you can ask.

Husband!Nanami who always orders the other option whenever you're indecisive and can't choose what to order so that you can get the best of both worlds. He always switches if you like his better.

Husband!Nanami who loves it when you refer to him as your husband. He can't help but sense a bit of pride at the fact that he gets to be your husband.

Husband!Nanami who can read your emotions just by your body language and habits. Even if you tell him you're fine, he can tell when you're not.

Husband!Nanami who memorizes your schedule and routines and helps make things efficient. Your work clothes? consider them cleaned and ironed the day before. Your lunch? packed with a note. Your makeup? organized. Your bed? made.

Husband!Nanami who loves to do anything and everything for you not because you can't, but because he wants show his love for you by doting on you.

Tags: [MDNI]husband!nanami x foodie!wife reader. SMUT and a sprinkle of fluff. Breeding (?), p in v, oral sex (f recieving), mating press, freaks in an established relationship (married), pregnancy. I need to stop writing smut but this has been in my drafts..

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

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

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

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

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

Well, you were very wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it clicks.

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

God he is a sight for sore eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” He hums.

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because the sight of you so full drives him insane.

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

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

His child.

A walking testament of him feeding you well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey—don’t stop-please—“

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

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

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

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

“Kento—” You whine.

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

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

“Inside—please go-”

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

“Ken, please—please fuck me.”

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

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

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

He loves.

And he loves you so much.

“Love me, Ken.”

A small smirk breaks out.

You have him.

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

From the sensitivity, you almost moan against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he really does.

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

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

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

Slowly, he starts moving. The reverent drags of his cock between your velvety walls tattoos itself into your gummy brain.

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

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

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

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

But you love it.

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

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

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

Nanami’s control breaks with a hard snap.

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

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

Now, you feel full.

And you can only hope he leaves you this way.

“Mmh-Kento?”

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

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

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

You clench around him, not wanting him to leave.

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

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

“You want me to fill you up?”

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

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

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

And suddenly, you no longer feel empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He better be or I’ll strangle you!”

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

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

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

Anyway,

Nanami Kento is right where he wants to be.

synopsis: a week of drabbles and stories dedicated to my beloved kento nanami <333

content: a mix of ✿ fluff | ☹ angst | ❧ smut

each day will have icons associated with one or more of these categories, you can find specific content warnings on each post :)

a/n: my take on Nanami week, i hope you enjoy what i came up with and of course thank you to @nanamiweek for making this possible!!

nanami art by @/thatsallitchief - divider by @/pixopix

DAY 1

✿ childhoodbestfriend!nanami is your first love

DAY 2

☹❧ detective!nanami x serialkiller!reader

!!!DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!

DAY 3

✿ papamin's happily ever after

DAY 4

✿ bakeryowner!reader finally sees nanami again

DAY 5

❧ you and your husband have a praise kink

DAY 6

✿ dr. nanami can't figure out why your hearts racing!

DAY 7

☹✿❧ (a secret for now hehe)

꒰ birthday sex with nanami kento ૮ • ﻌ - ა

a/n: yeah happy birthday to my beloved babe #missingudaily <3 minors DNI

the once silky sheets you spent the afternoon smoothing out with care—were now a ruined, damp mess beneath you. your wetness had soaked through in dark patches, the rose petals that had once been artfully scattered now crushed and clinging to your skin, your thighs, and nanami's hips as he drove into you with deep, punishing strokes.

he had you face down, chest pressed into the mattress, ass up in the perfect angle for him to rail you from behind. one of his hands gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks, while the other braced beside your head, caging you in as his cock stretched and filled your soaked cunt over and over again. the wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the bedroom, mixing with your muffled moans into the pillow and his low grunts.

truthfully, nanami hadn't expected this when he stepped through the door after a long, exhausting day at work. he expected a quiet dinner, maybe watch a movie and cuddle with you. that was what he'd imagined for his birthday.

instead he came home to rose petals had guided him straight to your shared bedroom, the room glowing with soft candlelight, a bottle of his favorite whiskey waiting on the nightstand, a massive banner stretched across the headboard reading "happy birthday, my love!!" and you—his beautiful wife, completely bare and waiting for him like a gift.

what else could he do but take full advantage?

"fuck....darling," nanami groaned, his voice rough as he slammed into you harder, the thick head of his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. "you did all of this for me? such a thoughtful wife."

he leaned down, his bare chest pressing to your back, his lips brushed against your ear as he slowed just enough to grind deep, letting you feel every inch. "does it feel good? am i making you feel good sweetheart?"

you whimpered, pushing back against him, your walls clenching greedily around his cock. yhe stretch was perfect—almost too full, the way only he could make you feel without ever complaining. every thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, your clit throbbing from the stimulation of the sheets rubbing against it every time he thrusts into you.

"it's...ahh—so perfect," you gasped, turning your head to the side so he could see your flushed tear streaked face. "harder ken please..."

an appreciative sound came from him. even now, buried balls deep in your cunt, he was still him—your nanami. the sweet caring man you married. he pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder before he straightened up again, both hands gripping your hips as he picked up the pace. the bed creaked beneath you, the headboard thumping softly against the wall in time with his thrusts.

"such a good girl," he murmured, voice steady despite the way his cock twitched inside you.

"so so good to me..." he whispers, mostly to himself as he pulled out almost completely, teasing your entrance with just the tip, before driving back in with one smooth, powerful stroke that made your eyes roll back, a squeal slipping from you. the friction felt electric—your slick walls fluttering around his thick length, the lewd squelch of your arousal echoing louder with every movement.

you moaned, fingers gripping in the ruined sheets. "ken! yes fuck..right there—hah, you're so deep,"

he rewards you with another thrust, rolling his hips in that deliberate way that made your toes curl. one hand slid up your back, gentle even as he fucked you, fingers tracing your spine before tangling in your hair, holding you in place as he leaned over you again.

"look at the mess you've made sweetheart," he teased against your ear. "all this for my birthday? seems i have to keep you all mine if you keep spoiling me like this hm?"

his hand slipped from your hair to underneath you, finding your swollen clit and rubbing slow, firm circles that had you crying out. "i want to feel you cum around me baby, can you do that for me?"

regardless of the struggle, you nodded your head frantically, as the pleasure leasure coiled tight in your stomach building up fast as your cunt squeezing him rhythmically, teetering right on the edge.

"ohh ken, i'm so close—don't stop!"

your orgasm crashed over you, thighs shaking as you moaned his name into the sheets, waves of intense pleasure pulsing through your body while he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out with deep, steady strokes. "fuck—can i cum inside sweetheart? please..make us a family yeah?"

you whimpered at his words, your walls clenched around him at the thought of making a family with your husband. "yes—please do it..i wanna start a family with you—ah!"

the second you confirmed what he hoped you would, his pace picks up once more, chasing his orgasm as he thanks you repeatedly. he twitches inside, hips stuttering as he suddenly cums in you, warm ropes of his cum filling you all the way as he whispers praises against you.

"so perfect.." he mumbles, slowly pulling out of you, watching the mix of your joint orgasm spilling out of you in awe. "happy birthday again kento, i love you."

"love you too sweetheart."

⁠♡ synopsis: They say history repeats itself. You just never thought it would happen between you and your hot history professor in the middle of tutoring.

♡ warning: NSFW (18+), professor!nanami x student dynamic, power imbalance, age gap (Nanami 30/Reader 23), explicit scene, strong language, suggestive dialogue, oral sex, fingering and sex.

“You’re not dumb, sweetheart. You just need to put in a bit more effort. The story’s not hard, you see? The emperor didn’t die because of treason—he died because God decided it. That means something different.”

You blink up at Nanami, chewing on your pen cap without even realizing how distracting you look. He’s been trying to get this point across for half an hour, and you’re still not getting it. You glance down at the open book. Nanami’s scribbling something out for you, because he knows you can’t really wrap your head around a story unless it’s written down.

But the way your brows bunch up and your lips twist into a little pout gives you away. You’re still lost.

Nanami sighs, but there’s a small grin tugging at his mouth as he flips to the next page. This girl, he thinks.

“Well, since this one’s a bit of a headache, let’s just move on to the Thibaw Emperor in Burma, okay?” He pauses, watching you sit there, frozen.

“We good?”

Reality smacks you in the face. You nod fast and set your chewed pen down on the table. You straighten up, the ache in your back disappearing at once, and lean in closer, catching a whiff of his cologne. It’s distracting. You press your thighs together, hum, and try to focus. “What emperor? Thi...Bow?”

He laughs. “Thee-Baw. Thibaw Emperor. He was the last king of the Konbaung dynasty—the last monarch before the British took over Burma.” Nanami’s eyes flick down to your lips as he explains. You’re pouting again, pretending to listen. He knows you’re just staring at his hands. He can’t help but find it cute.

“Ever heard of his wife? Supayalat Empress?” he asks, testing you a little. Your mom swore you’d been paying attention in history class, even after that F.

You shake your head, trying to laugh it off and scratching your arm—your classic awkward move. “No, Mr. Kento. Never heard of him.”

“Her, Miss. Thibaw’s wife. So, her.” He grins at your slip-up.

You giggle and cover your mouth, embarrassed. “Right. Her.”

He huffs and moves on, telling you how Thibaw became the last king of Burma after wiping out his own royal family—thanks to his wife’s manipulation.

Nanami keeps talking, but your jaw drops. You look shocked, even though he’s explained this a dozen times in class. Honestly, you’re too distracted by him to pay attention to any lecture. He’s noticed. He always notices how your thighs squeeze together when he stretches to grab a marker.

He clears his throat, snapping you out of your little daydream of him doing things you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about right now. “Yes?”

“Uh, do you know why the royal system collapsed when Thibaw tried to rebuild after Britain attacked Burma?”

“Because of... mm... because of...” You trail off, distracted by his jawline, his glasses, his broad shoulders. You swallow, bite your lip, and whisper, almost without realizing—

“Fuck me.”

He freezes, eyes wide. After a second, he says, “I beg your pardon?”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. “No! That’s not—I didn’t mean—I swear, please don’t tell my mom.” You grab his arm, hands barely fitting around his bicep. “Please, Mr. Kento. You’re my third tutor. I can’t go through another one...”

He sighs, shaking his head, but there’s no real anger there. “Alright. I don’t want to lose this gig either. But next time, please, try not to blurt out stuff like that when we’re studying.”

You nod, still holding onto his arm, lip trembling like you might cry. “Yes, Mr. Kento. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

He looks at you, deadpan. “I’m sorry...?”

You gasp, horrified. “No! That’s not—I’m not—oh god, Mr. Kento, I didn’t mean it.” Suddenly, you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his solid chest.

He stiffens, stuck in his chair while you bury your face in his shirt, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he run away, block everyone’s number, move halfway across the world to Malaysia or should he try to calm you down, and honestly, the bulge that makes an embarrassing tent beneath his pants.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kentooo,” you mumble into his chest, voice muffled and desperate, hands gripping his shirt like you might never let go.

Nanami takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He pats your head, gentle, then grabs your shoulder and eases you away. Then he notices, your cheeks are wet with tears, lip gloss smudged all over his shirt. His heart sinks. He cups your face, thumbing your trembling lips, and everything about this feels heavy.

He shouldn’t even be thinking about sex right now. Not with you crying. He should stand up and leave. But his hand moves on its own, brushing over your pouting lips, thumb lingering, rubbing softly then slipping past your lips, resting on your tongue.

You freeze at first. But then your mind flashes back: those nights alone, breathless, your own hands busy between your thighs, his stolen neckties pressed to your nose. You remember how you’d get yourself off, leaking on the sheets, imagining him there, rough, greedy, spanking and pinching, making you scream his name, soaking the bed.

You know what you want. And now, you’re ready.

Your tongue snakes out, licking his thumb, slow and filthy, like you want to ruin him. You lock eyes, lips curling around him, and the noise he makes isn’t even a breath more like a low growl, all hunger and restraint.

“Sweetheart…” he growls. He pulls his soaked thumb from your mouth, lifts his hand to your hair, fist tightening gently as he tips your head back. “On your knees. Now.”

You don’t even hesitate. You get off the chair, kneel between his legs, hands settling right on his cock. no shame, no hesitation. You stroke him through his pants, watching him through hazy, lust-soaked eyes. He hisses, and you feel how hard he is under your touch, straining for you. He’s going to ruin you, you can feel it.

“Open your mouth, pretty girl.” His voice is gravel and smoke. You open wide, and he pulls his cock out—thick, already dripping. You stick your tongue out, eager, ready to swallow him whole.

He strokes himself a couple times, then guides his cock to you, taps it on your tongue. The taste is sharp, salty. You look up with wide eyes and he just loses it, pushing into your mouth, groaning at the feel of your lips wrapped tight around him.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Good girl. So perfect for me.” He can’t stop praising you.

You moan around him, tongue swirling like you’re savoring a lollipop. You try to wrap your hands around him but he’s just too big, your fingers only cover half his length. But you keep going, bobbing your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your jaw aches, your tongue is going numb from his size and the taste, but you don’t care. You just want all of him. You move faster, filthy sounds filling the room, your mouth stuffed full. “...gawk!”

He lets go of your hair, hand moving to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “No crying,” he murmurs, thumb gentle. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He wants to slow you down, pull you off, but he can’t. He just watches the way your lips work him, the way you look up, face streaked but beautiful.

“Did I do good, Mr. Kento?” you sob, grinning around his cock, tits spilling out, hands barely enough to cover him.

He’s close. Too close.

His cock throbs in your mouth and you suck harder, tongue circling the tip, hands stroking his shaft. He jolts, groaning, and you can’t help but smile.

It’s too much.

He grabs you, hauls you up, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet pop. Then he pushes you back onto the desk, breath ragged, cock still hard and aching for release.

“Mr. Kento?” you whimper, legs parted, his body pressed between them.

“If I put my tongue in you, sweetheart, I can’t just be your tutor anymore. I don’t think I could ever go back, not after this.” His voice is rough, hands tracing over your top, following every curve.

“Please, Mr. Kento. I want you. I’ve wanted this forever.” Your voice is shaky, needy, grabbing at his wandering hands. “Fuck me. Hard.”

He curses, grip tightening on your waist. “You asked for this, sweetheart. There’s no going back.”

“Yes, Mr. Kent—”

“Kento. Just Kento, sweetheart,” he sighs, sounding almost wrecked. “Call me by my name when I’m making a mess of you.”

You grin, propping up on your elbow, staring at his body, his tousled blond hair. “So, Kento, you don’t want to eat me out?”

God, please.

He drops to his knees before you can blink, hands slipping under your knees and spreading you wide. He catches the scent of your arousal, licking his lips, and nudges your panties aside with his tongue, hungry for every bit of you.

He drops to his knees in a heartbeat. His hands slide under your knees, spreading them apart, no hesitation. The scent of your arousal hits him, and he licks his lips, hungry, nudging your panties aside with his tongue.

His palms grip your ass, fingers splayed, pulling you open. He drags his tongue up your slit, slow and deliberate, and the sound you make—god, it’s perfect. He groans into you, voice rough. “Tastes like candy,” he says, grinning against your skin.

Your head falls back on the table, hands diving into his soft blond hair. You tug, guiding him, rolling your hips up against his mouth, desperate for more. He’s not gentle. He’s wild, eating you out like he’s starving, and you can’t get enough.

“Ah, fuck, Kento. Fuck, that’s good. More, baby, I want more,” you gasp. Your legs hook over his shoulders, keeping you anchored while he devours you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You’re close—so close—when suddenly three fingers push inside, stretching you wide. No warning. He fucks you with them, deep and steady, tongue never leaving your clit, sucking hard. He shakes his head, mouth locked on you, relentless.

You cry out, “Ken—Angh!”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’s grinding against the desk, desperate, but he stays focused on you. Spit drips from his mouth, mixing with your slick as he smears it over your swollen pussy.

Your back arches, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around his fingers. Your toes curl, and you know he’s not stopping until you break. Until you squirt.

You’re sobbing, words spilling out, “A-are you trying to make me squirt?”

Nanami smirks, chest rumbling as he mutters into your soaked cunt, “Caught on, did you, sweetheart?”

Shit.

Your juices drip down his sharp jaw, over his fingers, but he doesn’t care. He keeps going, tongue and fingers working you until you can’t hold back.

“I’m coming, baby,” you whimper. Your nails dig into his hair. Your thighs squeeze his head, and you wail—hot liquid sprays out of you, harder than ever, drenching his chest, soaking the table, his face. He grins, pulls his fingers out, and licks them clean, savoring every drop.

You’re shaking, spent, hair tangled in your fingers, body limp. Nothing’s ever made you come this hard not even your toys.

But Nanami’s not done.

He stands, stroking his cock, sloppy and eager. He rubs the head against your soaked entrance, teasing, “May I?”

You bite your lip, catch his hand, gentle. “Come inside,” you tell him, voice shaky.

His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t ask twice. He lines up, rubs the tip over your clit, and then pushes in, slow, deep. Fuck, he nearly loses it right there, sliding into your wet heat, your tight walls clenching around him.

He leans down to whisper, a rough little laugh in his voice, “Gonna make another history tutor generation.”

He grins, breathless. “Don’t you think so, sweetheart?”