🜼 ⋆ when the new girl from nanami’s work place made you doubt yourself, your boyfriend is there to remind you; he belongs to you by making you sit on his face.
the city hums faintly beyond the closed window, muffled by heavy curtains. the lamp on your nightstand casts the room in a warm amber haze, just enough light to trace the shape of him lying beside you. nanami kento—hair slightly mussed from the day, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-unbuttoned. even exhausted, he looks composed, a man built from restraint.
you lie against him, curled into the heat of his body. one of his hands rests at your waist, thumb brushing idle strokes through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. the weight of him there is comforting—steady, grounding.
“long day?” you murmur, voice soft, not wanting to disturb the quiet.
“mm,” he hums, eyes closed. “meetings. too many.”
you smile faintly, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. “with who?”
he cracks one eye open, glances at you. “colleagues. clients. the usual parade of inefficiency.”
you laugh softly, but there’s something coiled in your chest. “were your colleagues at least tolerable today?”
“depends on your definition of tolerable,” he says, deadpan, which earns him another quiet laugh. “one of them spent the meeting typing so loudly i couldn’t hear myself think. another spilled coffee everywhere. a disaster, as always.”
you hum, fingers tracing a line down the front of his shirt. you shouldn’t, but the words slip out anyway: “what about the new one? the girl who started last week.”
his brow lifts slightly. “hm?”
“was she there too?” you ask, trying for casual, but your voice catches on the edge.
nanami studies you now, gaze too sharp for comfort. “yes. she was there.”
you swallow. “is she… fitting in well?”
“she’s quiet,” he says evenly. “seems capable. but why are you asking me this?”
you force a shrug, avoiding his eyes. “i was just curious.”
he’s silent. the kind of silence that makes you feel exposed, as though every unspoken thing inside you has already been laid bare.
“no,” he says at last, his voice quiet but certain. “you’re not just curious.”
your chest tightens. you want to insist, to play it off, but you can’t. the words tangle in your throat. i just wonder if she’s prettier, if she’s smarter, if she’s the kind of person you’d look at twice in a way you don’t look at me anymore.
but you don’t say it. you don’t have to—nanami reads it in you anyway.
he exhales, long and controlled, and then he moves. in one smooth motion, he shifts, guiding you onto your back and rising over you. his gaze is heavy, his jaw set.
“don’t do this,” he says, low and unwavering. “don’t sit here doubting yourself. doubting me.”
“you were.” his tone cuts through your protest, not cruel, just firm. “and i won’t let you. not for a second.”
before you can reply, he kisses you—deep, deliberate, swallowing the sting of your half-formed words. his hand cradles your face, his other sliding down your thigh, coaxing it open. his lips trail to your ear, his voice a rough whisper.
“you think anyone else could have what you have? what i give you?”
your breath stutters, but you can’t answer.
“i’ll remind you,” he murmurs. “properly.”
he shifts lower, pulling you with him until he’s lying flat and you’re straddling his chest. your heart races as realization dawns, but his grip on your thighs leaves no room for retreat.
“sit,” he orders, voice calm but unyielding.
you hover, trembling, embarrassed by the intimacy of it, but he doesn’t allow hesitation. his hands are firm, dragging you down until you’re against his mouth. the first stroke of his tongue is slow, reverent—then the next deeper, hungrier.
your gasp breaks the quiet, your fingers tangling in his hair. “wait—”
he hums against you, the vibration jolting through your core, and it’s enough to unravel any thought of stopping. he works at you with devastating precision, tongue and mouth unrelenting. every flick, every drag feels like worship, like he’s carving his devotion into you with every breath.
you try to lift yourself, overwhelmed, but his hands anchor you down, holding you firm. “don’t run,” he murmurs, his voice muffled, command threaded with tenderness. “take it.”
your thighs quake around his head. your cries grow higher, thinner, until you break—shaking, spilling over his mouth. but he doesn’t stop.
he drags you through it, coaxing you again, mouth greedy, tongue insistent. overstimulation burns through you, sharp and sweet, and tears prick your eyes. “kento, i— i can’t—”
“yes, you can,” he says, pausing only long enough to breathe the words against your skin, then diving back in, sucking, licking, devouring.
you sob his name, hips twitching helplessly against his face. pleasure coils and snaps again, your body trembling as another wave crashes over you.
he swallows every sound, every shiver, until you collapse forward, boneless, clinging to the headboard for support. still, he doesn’t let go—doesn’t stop until you’re crying into the pillow, begging weakly for mercy.
only then does he ease his grip, kissing your thigh before guiding you back down against his chest. your body shakes with aftershocks, your breath uneven.
he strokes your back, his lips brushing your temple. his voice is quiet, certain, but it cuts through the haze with unshakable weight.
“i’m yours,” he says. “only yours. never forget it.”
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