neighbor!nanami fixing your car and earning himself a cute date!
“can you hand me the screwdriver?” your neighbor, nanami kento, asked. he wiped his sweat dappled forehead using his shirt that he’d tossed aside, standing across from you shirtless as sweat dripped down his chest.
you almost couldn’t hear what he’d said, way too busy staring at him because what the hell?
that morning, before you’d driven off to the cafe, with all the easiness of a deserved off day for you’d worked nonstop all through the week, you were happy and content and peaceful.
until your gaze caught up on the steam creeping across the cool floor beneath the hood. and let out a horrified scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood up.
which, was also the reason your neighbor, nanami kento ended up on your garage, shirtless and sweating.
he talked about some hose clamp and how it loosened, but honestly, you were way too focused staring at his biceps to comprehend what he’d just said.
as he tightened the clamp, he uttered a silent “fuck,” his knuckles splashed with coolant and the warm breeze upon his bare chest made him slightly shiver. ‘this,’ you thought, ‘is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.’
“what can i help with?” you asked him, purely out of courtesy. kento breathed heavily as he leaned into the car, his arms tightening along. at the beginning you’d wondered if it was that necessary for him to take his shirt off, now thinking again, it certainly was needed. it was a necessity. your eyes lingered on his arms.
“nothing really— it’s almost over anyway.” he muttered under his breath, his muscles still flexing along his every move. “that must’ve scared you.” he added.
“yeah, honestly, once i saw that steam i almost thought the car was gonna blow up.”
he laughed with a strained voice, and you thought how the dry summer air must’ve been making it unbearable, let alone the heated breeze fluttering through the garage here and there.
“thank you, really, you didn’t have to do this.” you kind of felt guilty about how he was wasting his whole weekend morning on fixing your car, but then again, it was him who’d rushed out of his house once he’d heard you scream. with his mug full of coffee on his hand. and his surprisingly cute slippers.
well, you’ve always known that he had a rather unique approach on fashion.
“don’t mention it. i had nothing better to do anyway.” he smiled up at you, his cheeks reddened with a slight flush. his hair was messy in a way that made your heart throb.
“hmm.” you tilted your head to watch him as the leak stopped dripping and he slowly rose up, the warm breeze rippled through the branches across the garage and summer sun stretched across his flushed skin with a soft glow.
he was finished. probably.
“really, thank you so much nanami-“ you tried but he cut you off.
“kento. please.” the words tumbled out as he ruffled his hair with a nervous urgency. although you’d been familiar with each other through years of silent good mornings and shy attempts at conversation, you’d never crossed that invisible distance before. you smiled warmly upon his words.
‘fuck, just go for it,’ you cheered for yourself. there was no way you were letting that shirtless man leave.
“thank you so much kento. genuinely-“ you bit your lip, “actually, i was just about to get my morning coffee. there’s a really nice place i know nearby. how about,” you fidgeted with your hands. “a thank you coffee? my treat.”
you breathed out the last words with such haste that even you couldn’t comprehend what you’d said for a few seconds.
“well, that’s a bit generous for just fixing your car, isn’t it?” he laughed gently.
“a coffee?”
“you.” oh.
with heat creeping into your skin, you giggled, avoiding his gaze. “no, i think i’d say it’s exactly what you’ve earned.”
he, again, breathed out a laugh as he shook his head. wearing his shirt back, with a muffled voice he said, “i don’t think i could ever say no to that.”
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🜼 ⋆ when you said you wanted to give him a handjob, kento never thought you’d leave him folding forward.
“you wanna please me that bad?” he muttered earlier, almost amused, a little condescending. like he was entertaining you. like it wouldn’t actually get to him.
you had asked so sweetly, too—“just my hand, nanami. let me try?”—and he’d said yes with that quiet smirk, the kind that says i’m humoring you, sweetheart.
but now? now he’s sweating. legs shaking, mouth parted around something halfway between a moan and a breathless fuck as your hand works him in ruthless, slick strokes.
“h-haah—slow down—” he manages, voice breaking over the syllables, hand flying down to grip your wrist—but not to stop you. no, not really. he’s just trying to anchor himself, steady the tremble in his arms.
but you don’t slow down. you squeeze instead.
“thought you said i could use it?” you purr, twisting your wrist just under the swollen head, watching him fold at the waist, hunched over like he’s bracing for impact. “wasn’t this your idea?”
“not—like this,” he grits out, head bowed low, blonde hair sticking to his temples. his thighs are tense, spread wide, the muscles twitching as his cock pulses in your fist. he looks wrecked, like he’s holding onto every last thread of composure and it’s snapping right between your fingers. “fuck—fuck, you’re gonna—make me come again—”
“good.” you brace yourself.
you stroke him harder, faster—using both hands now, spit-slick and mean, and he bucks into it with a noise you’ve never heard from him before. his hips stutter, twitch, then try to pull back—his whole body flinching from the oversensitivity—but you don’t let him. you grip him tighter, pump him through it like you own it.
“not so cocky now, huh?” you whisper more to yourself but his ears twitch, catching your words.
he groans—loudly, like it punches out of his chest—head tipping back as his cock jumps again, spilling more precum across your knuckles. you know he’s close. again. you can feel it: the way his abs clench, the hitch in his breath, the way he mumbles “shit, shit, shit” like he’s trying to hold it in.
but he can’t.
you make him come again anyway.
his whole body curls inward, hips jerking as you milk him through it, fist tight, relentless, squeezing every drop from him while he whimpers through gritted teeth. he’s so loud now, so desperate, gasping your name like he’s begging and doesn’t even know what for.
and when you don’t stop—when you keep going, still fisting him, still rubbing his tip raw—he starts to shake. thighs trembling, breath hitching with every stroke, body instinctively trying to twist away.
“too much,” he breathes. “it’s—it’s too much, i can’t—”
but his cock is still twitching in your palm. still rock hard. still leaking. still yours.
so you smile, lips grazing his ear, and say,
“yes you can. you gave it to me, remember?”
and you don’t stop until he’s gone.
until he’s quiet. twitching. fucked-out.
and no part of him remembers why he ever thought it’d be just a handjob.
not your usual soft, thoughtful kind of quiet, either. this is heavy, sulking silence. a quiet born from hurt. you won’t look at him when he walks in, and you don’t meet him at the door like you usually do.
you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, your face barely illuminated by the glow of the tv you’re not even watching.
kento sees it immediately.
the damage he’s done.
he exhales. his tie is loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned from a long day, and he doesn’t even take his shoes off before walking over to you. he drops to one knee in front of the couch, large hands finding your thighs, and you flinch.
just a little. but enough.
he closes his eyes and swears under his breath.
“sweetheart.” his voice is rough, regretful. “look at me.”
you don’t.
“i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
still, you won’t lift your gaze. he cups your jaw gently, guiding your face toward him.
“i came home and took it out on you. you did nothing wrong.”
you blink, lashes fluttering like you’re holding back something. maybe anger? maybe tears? either way, it twists in his chest like a dagger.
“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “you can punish me however you want. just don’t shut me out like this. i can’t take it.”
and then he leans in. softly. tentatively. kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying not to scare you away.
you don’t push him off.
but you don’t lean in either.
but when his lips brush against yours again, slower this time, his fingers stroking your thigh, he feels you sigh. quiet. resigned. wanting.
he deepens the kiss slowly. like he’s savoring every second. one hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, and the other slides up under your oversized shirt his shirt until his palm is resting just under your breast.
you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back to look at you.
“let me make it up to you,” he says, voice low and rough. “let me show you how sorry I am.”
and when you whisper, “okay…” it comes out breathy, hesitant. he kisses you again, harder this time. less patient. more desperate.
he carries you to the bedroom, kissing your neck the whole way there, muttering apologies between each press of his lips.
once you’re on the bed, he strips you slow. reverent. like he’s trying to re-memorize your body, like he thinks he’s lost the right to touch it. he undresses himself only after you’re bare before him. flushed and shy but still watching him now, finally.
when he pushes your thighs open and settles between them, he just looks at you.
“you’re the softest thing I’ve ever known,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “i don’t deserve to be this close to you.”
his mouth trails down your tummy, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the inside of your thigh. you squirm when he kisses lower, and his large hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place.
he eats you out like it’s penance.
slow, slow drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. then again. then again. he flicks it, circles it, sucks gently until your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. he flattens his tongue and moans low against you when you whimper his name.
“you taste so fucking sweet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing his mind. “i could stay here all night.”
two fingers slide into you, thick and slow, curling just right until your back arches off the bed. he doesn’t stop when you come, if anything, he gets hungrier. stays there until your thighs tremble, until you're panting, oversensitive and breathless.
“turn around,” he says softly. then, catching your hesitation, adds: “please.”
you do. on your hands and knees now, cheek pressed to the pillow, thighs still shaky from how hard you came. He kneels behind you, one hand smoothing down your back, then gripping your hip as he lines himself up.
“gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, running his leaking tip through your slick folds.
you nod quickly. “yes. please…”
he pushes in slowly. inches at a time.
you both groan when he bottoms out. you’re so tight, warm, wet. he has to close his eyes and grip your hips to keep from losing it immediately.
“fuck,” he grits out. “you always feel like this after i’ve been an asshole to you?”
you whine, half flustered, half desperate. and he leans over you, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades.
“say I’m forgiven,” he rasps. “say it, and i’ll take care of you.”
“i forgive you,” you whisper.
he thrusts once. deep. controlled.
you choke on a moan.
“again.”
“i forgive you– ken– please–”
he sets a rhythm, deep and slow, dragging his dick against every sensitive part of you. one hand slides under your stomach, pressing down right where the bulge forms when he fucks you deep.
“you feel that?” he growls in your ear. “feel me right here?”
you nod helplessly, mouth open, drool slipping down your chin.
he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you upright, back to his chest, fucking up into you from beneath now. one hand snakes between your thighs to rub your clit while the other grabs your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss your jaw.
“mine,” he breathes. “my sweet girl. i’m so fucking sorry.”
you clench tight around him, moaning his name again and again until your body tensed, shaking, and you come hard, thighs trembling, hips twitching.
he groans, burying himself deep one last time, spilling inside you with a low, broken curse.
afterward, he doesn't pull out. just keeps holding you close, lips brushing your shoulder, your temple, your hair.
“you’re everything to me,” he whispers. “even when I’m too stupid to act like it.”
you murmur something back, barely audible, and he shifts to kiss your cheek.
“what was that?”
“i said…” You glance at him, eyes soft. “you’re forgiven. but you’re making me sore.”
he chuckles low, pressing a kiss to your temple. “then i guess i’ll just have to rub your thighs and draw you a bath.”
you hum sleepily against his chest.
“…and maybe eat you out again before you fall asleep.”
you chuckled. and he smiles for real this time.
because nothing feels better than being let back in.
silly post nut clarity moment with ur hubby kento / cw: mentions of pregnancy
lying there, panting softly against your husbands chest as he pulls you closer to him. a soft kiss is planted to the corner of your hairline, his warm lips like a furnance for your skin.
“you did so well, honey,” he murmurs against your forehead before pulling back a little to lay back on the pillow. a soft hum is all you give back, letting the silence stretch comfortably.
“hey, ken?” your voice gently pushes the silence, alerting his half-asleep form. he twitches a little, peeking one eye open. “hm?”
“do you think i made a weird face when i came?”
…
“like a—i dunno—a distressed face or something? like this—“ your eyebrows pinch together, mouth opening to mimic a gasp.
“honey—“
“cause honestly, i was imagining myself—which i know is weird, don’t get me started—and i think it looked weird or something…”
“sweetheart, you look very beautiful when you finish, i’m not sure what you mean.”
a small huff escapes your lips. “okay well what about that thing i said? when i was all like telling you to get me pregnant over and over? was that too far? maybe i should cut back on the pregnancy talk.”
“that’s a mutual want. we also both tend to say things we may or may not mean in bed. and, nothing you do or say in bed is embarrassing, my love.”
“if you say so. pretty weird now that i think about it.”
Imagine nanami’s face when he hears “shut up, mommy!” from your childs mouth. feel like he’d be passive aggressive idk. andddd maybeeee, possibly, a girl dad..
nanami was sitting by the couch, reading a book when he happened to overhear a conversation between his wife and his daughter.
“sweetheart, I know you want to play but I told you before that school work comes first.” you gently brush your fingers through your daughter’s hair, sensing her annoyance. You’ve been at it for a few minutes now, going back and forth. “no! I want to play!”
you sigh, crouching down to her level. “no, school work first."
nanami wanted to intervene, but he also wanted to see how you would handle this situation. that is, until—
“shut up, mommy!” she huffs, sniffling.
nanami's attention immediately turned to his daughter with a stern expression, clearly displeased with her words to you—his wife. you—though surprised at your daughter's outburst—held your composure.
nanami kneeled down in front of his daughter, his voice firm but not overly harsh, "you know better than to speak to your mother that way, young lady. It's not appropriate or respectful, and you need to apologize, right now.”
the little girl pouted, her bottom lip trembling slightly as she crossed her arms. nanami could see the defiance mixed with guilt in her eyes, but he remained steadfast, not budging from his position. you stood nearby, trying not to show the slight amusement on your face at your daughter's stubbornness.
nanami reached out, gently taking the little girl's hand in his own. His tone softened, slightly, as he spoke, "I understand you're upset, but there is no excuse for disrespecting your mother like that. I need you to say you're sorry, and mean it."
the little girl looked up at her father, her tough facade crumbling slightly. she squirmed in place, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. after a few seconds of silence–she finally muttered, "I'm...sorry, mommy."
nanami felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, satisfied with her response. he nodded approvingly before turning to you, who gave a small, relieved smile in return.
💭;; might I say this is one of my fav works EVER??? idk i just liked this sm idk why
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the position you have yourself in feels all wrong and the angle is, well, utterly embarrassing. you'd been the one to suggest this in the first place, well written smut online fogging your mind and forcing the request past your lips before you could think about the logistics.
he'd said yes, of course. kento's inability to deny you paired with you being too chicken to back out (plus not wanting to out of sheer curiosity), leaves you in your current predicament.
"I don't think it's rocket science, sweetheart." kento's lying flat on his back beneath you, head propped up on a pillow. being awfully patient despite your prolonged stalling. his fingertips draw the barest shapes on either side of your hips, tapping lightly to get you to move higher. your knees bracket his ribs, heat of your cunt burning into the firm ridges of his stomach. "it's just me. nothing to be shy about." his frame shifts just enough to get close, mouth brushing over yours. "you just sit there like you sit on my lap. and then you move."
"I am sitting." you grumble, settling a little lower, ass right up against the band of his slacks. "being on your lap is different."
it really isn't, but he just hums—hands smoothing up and down your sides, finally settling on your hips again. if he thinks looking at you the way he is currently helps, he's wrong. part of you just want to to just throw this idea to hell and take your usual seat, though with far less clothing than you both currently sport.
he's gotten buffer over the last couple months. beefy bi and triceps, chiseled abdomen rigid under where you're molten. what a waste it'd be to not rub yourself all over him. you're in completely uncharted territory. you'd think grinding on your boyfriend's abs would be easier than riding his cock, but the embarrassment you currently feel proves you wrong.
your hips cant forward then back in your first, tentative grind, exhale drawn out as though every breath would help to expel that nervous tension coiled deep in you. one after the other. in and out repeatedly.
it still remains as embarrassing as it was a minute ago, ridiculously enough. he's yours after all. your dignified, unshakeable nanami.
usually fucking you from behind, sideways (however he could get you, really) like it’s his government assigned duty, nanami. all yours...and here you are, shy about just getting off using his abs.
his fingers twitch against your hips, itching to help you out, but he bites back the urge. figures he'll let you work up that courage on your own.
"...this probably looks so silly."
"mm?" large, familiar hands slide upward- settling higher on your sides, fingertips cool against warm skin, "I promise that it doesn't," they coast under the hem of your shirt, spreading wide over the underside of your breasts. "you should see yourself from down here."
you bite the inside of your cheek keep your smile from spreading, letting your hips drag forward, just enough that your clit catches at the indent of a muscle. then backward in a similar motion. "what? you think I look good?" the sensation is a little dull through the fabric but good enough to warrant the continued rolling of your hips. the friction drags a shaky breath out of you, blood pooling hot under your skin. his stomach rises and falls with every breath, rigid plane shifting under you.
with how good it already feels, you figure applying just a little more pressure won't hurt. so you do, leaning close, hands bracing against his broad, firm shoulders for more leverage to rock your hips.
“very. don’t go overthinking it,” he murmurs, eyes flickering down to where you’re moving against him, “just use me.”
and that you do. your rhythm loses that tentative edge to it, speed picking up as you get more desperate. hips rolling, clit throbbing with every pass, soaked cotton catching right where it aches. a vicious ache blooms in your belly, a shaky moan drawn out of you in your building pleasure. "mm, kento.." every drag of your cunt over him leaves another sticky patch across his skin, shine of slick smearing across the hard cut of his abs.
"see? you're doing so well." his hands move low to plant on the curve of your ass over your panties, not at all taking over but guiding whenever he feels your pace begin to stagger. "that feels good, doesn't it?"
you can barely manage more than a breathy 'yeah', starting to enjoy this far more than you'd anticipated. but still, through the fabric is as dull as expected, beginning to cling uncomfortably.
which he notices, of course.
"here, let me.." one hand remains firm on your behind while the other slides between your thighs finger curling into the slick dampened gusset to drag it aside in one smooth, practiced motion. "does that feel better?"
the difference hits you like a breath of air after being underwater —immediate, raw. direct connection of your slick folds against his skin sending a hot zap right up your spine. it just feels so much better like this, incomparable to much else.
"kento,” you hiss, digging your nails into his shoulders, hips jerking forward too fast. “yeah, that’s—god, that’s so much better.”
your embarrassment wanes in the face of your pleasure, lips parting. now that you're comfortable he has no issue at all with guiding your movements on his own, heavy hands squeezing the fat of your ass. pulling you back and forth against his abdomen, letting you grind faster and harder down on him. just watching you, cock already properly hard and neglected behind you, far more caught up in seeing you finish like this.
the sounds filling the air get louder, lewder. squelches that would leave you embarrassed if you had the capacity for anything but bone deep arousal left. both your hands brace on his chest now, letting him get you off. despite the building ache in your thighs, stopping is the last thing you'd hope for. "oh—mm, kento. i'm gonna—oh my god—cum.."
“mhm, you are.” he says, almost under his breath. the words leave him breathless, strained. “keep going. make yourself cum on me. make yourself feel good.”
the ache has gone from something steadily building to a mean, insistent pressure that has your breathing coming fast, practically humping his abs at this point. his thumb—just the pad of it—presses down lightly on your clit mid-grind, just to add to the pressure already making you lose your mind.
and it hits just like that. sudden, white hot pleasure that has you bowing down into him, thumb still sweeping oh so gently over your clit as the other keeps you moving. the slick, sticky pool grows, spilling out over golden skin in a warm rush. he eases up the movement to not overstimulate you, thumb gently circling the sensitive bud to bring you back down.
your stay on his abdomen isn't long lasting after your orgasm. praise and his hands smoothing along your body prove to be the worst pairing when you're already worked up and horny out of your mind.
worse yet, meeting his already stiff cock about to burst through his slacks when you'd slid down to seat yourself on his lap had hijacked every other thought.
maybe you'd make it past 1 round of grinding next time.
author's note :: 𑣲⋆ princess nanami post as promised - repost from previous account <3
comments, likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!
