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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Nsfw is posted and reblogged, so don't even. thx.
If I see anyone plagiarizing my writing, it's on sight. The same goes for translations, although you can always ask permission for this one.
I only post my work on Tumblr, that's just a heads-up!
pairings/characters husband!nanami x wife!fem!reader + orphan!itadori
summary nanami kento's twenty-seventh birthday was the day the world he knew drastically changed. an unknown infection spreading through their quaint world, turning neighbors against neighbors and making nanami and his wife run from their home — leaving behind the life they knew for the uncertainty of survival. nine years later, toughened by loss and the fall of civilization, they cross parts with yuji — a child, immune, and a possible key to everything. in an environment where trust is dangerous and hope is fading, nanami is faced with unbearable choices: protect what's left of his heart or risk it all for something greater.
warnings modern/non canon au, the last of us au, main character death, yuji is aged down (9-10 years old), nanami!joel, yuji!ellie, time jumps, violence, gore, grief, emotional trauma, virus outbreak, moral ambiguity, ptsd themes, weapon usage, survivors guilt, child endangerment, apocalyptic themes, post outbreak, themes of love and loss, feelings of hopelessness, mild horror elements, suggestiveness, usage of she/her for reader, slice of life/fluff moments, hurt/no comfort, multiple characters mentioned: gojo, geto, megumi, yuta, mahito, etc.
note i have been nestled in this universe for awhile and it means so much to me. stories that creep onto my tongue when thinking of the love that mixes with the tone that lives in their world. I truly hope you love them as much. keep them close to your heart, please. and of course, @eraserbread, thank you for loving them, understanding them, and jumping into their universe as well. (art cred: @/hulixiaobai on x)
Synopsis. CASE 143.
Objective: To take care of the problem that is Agent 7:3 [CONFIDENTIAL—Name: Nanami Kento, Age: 27] once and for all. The most feared spy in all of Tokyo’s underbelly, with a conviction rate of 100%. And, this time, he’s probed into your higher-ups far too deeply—to take him out you must go undercover…as his wife.
The problem: You're Wanted, and Nanami Kento wants you. Badly.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!assassin!reader, spy!Nanami, Spy x Family AU, married couple, marriage of convenience, secret plots, espíonage, vioIence, you’re attempting to kiII him, he knows and likes it, they’re slightly unhinged, romcom vibes, Yuj cameo, Papamin, domestic, apothecaries, aphrodísiac, he’s GONE, he’s pússydrúnk, handcuffs, heels, pIot, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, face-ríding, p worship, body worship, Nanami’s big nose, service Nanami, matíng presses, MlLKING him, he’s here to pIease, markíng, manhandIing, cervíx smooching, DÚMBlFICATION, passionate s, heavy overstím, slight marathon, ínappropríate uses of his tie, making it fit, talking you through it, he just wants to be your real HUSBAND, creampíes, cúmpIay, STUFFING YOU, proposals, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 16.9k (ermmmm)
A/N. CONGRATSSSS Nanami nation for winning The Bachelorette poll mwahaha I told you babygirls there’d be a surprise-
Yet another bead of sweat glides down Nanami’s temple; consequences of tugging and prying at the restraints around his wrists to no avail. Hard metal handcuffs. Coiled snakes of metal - he isn’t sure whether it’s the tightness or the temperature that bites into his skin the most.
Though something else was gnawing at him entirely.
He’s seated in the darkness upon a rickety wooden chair, his hands forcefully held behind him. Golden tresses stick to his forehead- and he’s looking up through them as you close in. Eyes narrowed. Something dark shifting behind them…
His voice rasps out, “You have me.”
And you smile.
Pressing the tip of your golden dagger to his throat, stepping the point of your heels between his legs- “Honey, I’ve always had you.”
And he knows he should be trembling at the thought of finally falling into the Garden’s clutches, at the exposure of his identity, at the breach of his secrets.
But he had another problem.
Nanami Kento has never been harder.
Soon enough, you’re rovering your heel ambly up and down the plane of his thighs, up and down, up and down—in nothing but a mere graze.
The tips of his ears scorch red as he feels his smart, smoothened trousers getting tighter n’ tighter by the second. Nanami fights not to let his gaze dart downwards, he fights—but the slightest sensation of your heel inching closer, and he cracks.
Soon enough, your stare follows.
And you’re letting out a curious hum as you take in the bulge he was embarrassingly sporting.
“Oh? What’s this?” He damn-near flinches at the tone of your voice - so mockingly innocent. Nanami knew better- he knew so much better. “My portfolio never said you were such a pervert, Agent 7:3.”
He spits out, “No-”
“Yes.”
And he’s always loved those jet-black, barrel-black, heels of yours- honestly!
They sat collecting dust in a corner of your half of the closet, and he always did think they contrasted perfectly with his pale-green suits.
Though, he did often wonder when you’d bring them out.
He just never could’ve expected this…
Nanami lets out a pained hiss- letting his head drop backwards ever-so-slightly as you’re stepping down even harder. “Hard?” Your smile widens, feeling him throb and twitch beneath your heel. “Getting even harder? How did we ever get here, hubby—?”
How did you two ever get here, indeed.
.
.
.
Nanami remembers the pre-mission briefing perfectly- he always was told he had a photographic memory. However, the details of this particular day stand out so crystal clear in his brain that it was almost too sharp; like a rusty nail, or the point of your heel.
It’d been a sunny Thursday, even though daylight never pierced the headquarters of JISE (Japanese Intelligence Services’ Eastern-focused division). Nanami - though he wasn’t Nanami Kento, here, he was Agent 7:3 - had done this same song and dance, song and dance, song and dance over a hundred times already. It was routine as he flipped through the thick file that’d been slid over to him.
Agent Corpse [CONFIDENTIAL—Yaga Masamichi] sat with his arms crossed and a grim expression upon him that he wore nearly as much as his sunglasses. He waited patiently as Nanami finished reading through the miniscule blocked typing and looked up at him.
“So…” He started, neatly closing the file. “The mission seems standard, I don’t see why I would have any trouble with it.”
Yaga sighed and pushed his shades up, “It’s not the intelligence-gathering I see you having trouble with, rather it’s the…social aspects.”
Nanami raised a blond brow, “Social?”
“This mission-” Yaga sternly tapped the top of the file, “This isn’t one of your lone wolf operations, 7:3. To get close to the head of the Zenin family, you need to take on more roles than one. A family man. A father. A husband.”
The blond man steeped in his silence as his higher-up continued.
“You need to really live in this role, Kento—” He was startled - Yaga almost never called him that. Through his dark sunglasses, the older man’s eyes twinkled. “You need to believe it.”
“I…”
Without waiting for the rest of his sentence, he flicked open the file to a comprehensive list of potential orphanages and single women around his age in Tokyo: the building blocks to his faux-family. “Two people here will be counting on you to believe in your role.” Yaga spoke low, “And whatever that means for them after this mission is over…” This was always the hardest part. “From now onwards, consider yourself a husband and father before a spy. First and foremost.”
Nanami had never carried out a mission that involved other people.
And there was silence that stretched taut and nearly snapped- before Nanami answered in the only way he knew he could.
He looked at nanami with steely brown eyes, “Respectfully, I am the best spy in all of Japan’s Eastern Division for a reason, sir.”
Yaga slammed the file shut. It resounds louder than it should’ve - and there was the slightest smile twitching at his lips. “Good.”
For the good of the nation.
The days thereafter weren’t what Nanami would consider a blur—rather a list of procedures pertinent to his mission, of which he went through them all step by step, strictly and methodically. An exercise so tried and tired by him that he could do them in his sleep (he always slept with one eye open).
First, he rented out a nice home in suburban Shibuya, a spy’s-distance away from the Zenin ancestral home. It was a cosy cookie-cutter home for the cosy cookie-cutter life that he supposes normal civilians have the privilege to live, with cookie-cutter welcome mats and a patch of green garden from which sprouted a spare sprig that one could never be too sure wasn’t plastic. It had a dog home, too. Not because of any request or seeking from Nanami’s side, but because most families that lived in such a place owned one.
So he went out and adopted a shelter dog to keep up with appearances.
And how to explain the mysterious funds to the nosy neighbors? Well, his cover story of living in Denmark because of his grandfather’s side could only hold up for so long - Nanami got a cover job as a psychiatrist at the nearest affluent hospital. And then…
Then came the slightly difficult part.
Nanami Kento had done research on twenty-one different orphanages in Tokyo and several more outside before he’d finally landed in Sendai. And that was where he met Itadori Yuji.
Name: Itadori Yuji.
Age: 6 [March 20th]
Family: None alive. His parents died shortly after his birth [cause unknown], and he was taken care of by his paternal grandfather - his only living family - until he, too, passed from illness [lung cancer].
Other: Has been rehomed four times in the four-month span that he’s been living at the institution. Gets along well with others, cheerful disposition—is generally a good kid, though he seems to have trouble finding a guardian that can handle his energy. No matter how much they tease and taunt him - in the cruel, unknowingly callous way of children - Itadori still attempts to engage with them day after day, particularly with his tiger toy. He just needs some love.
Nanami’s stern eyes lingered on that last word.
He looked up from the sheet that the caregiver had handed to him. It was the first one that he’d been given- and by the sheer speed at which they had, he assumed that they’d been more than eager to get rid of the pink-haired little boy. Nanami glanced around the cream-colored room; small and cardboard-strong. This was a shady place.
He makes note of its location and organization to pass over to Yaga later.
Under the rim of the paper, he could see two small shoes getting scuffed on the carpet.
And as he puts it down to stare at Itadori, the boy raises his tiger toy upwards. An offering.
Wide chocolate eyes and trembling lips.
He looked as if he was about to cry.
Nanami doesn’t take the offering—though he did crouch down and reach his hand out to clasp one chubby, cotton-stuffed hand, he mimicked shaking hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Tiger.” Albeit a little stiffly - Nanami somewhat awkwardly attempted to smooth his features down to something warm as he looked at the boy then. “And who might you be?”
He’s never seen a smile wider.
And thus, everything was going according to plan.
There was the slightest hiccup when it turned out that Itadori Yuji needed tutoring - a lot of tutoring - that Nanami pored and labored over until he was seeing fractions in his nightmares, before he could complete the entrance exam for Jujutsu Academy. But he got in—by some cosmic miracle, Itadori Yuji got in.
He’s never been prouder- as a fake father, of course.
Everything really was going to plan. First came the baby, then came the prestigious school acceptance to get Itadori to form an acquaintance with Fushiguro Megumi, then came the marriage.
A little out of order, he knows.
And then after bumping into you at the local bakery he often frequented, he knew he’d found his future wife.
Not in a romantic way—he swears!
He swears.
“Oh…you dropped this.” You’d caught his attention in that gentle tone of yours.
Dropping down, you’d handed him an embroidered handkerchief he’d dropped during the collision - his favorite item to carry, in addition to the fact that it had a slip of poison stuffed between the folds. One he’d been planning to use on one of the Zenin elders just today…
What would he have done without you?
Similarly crouching before you straightened yourself, Nanami had met your eyes tenderly as he took the poisoned handkerchief from you. “Thank you…and your name?”
You’d looked down shyly as you answered. Venom at your fingertips.
He killed a man that evening and could only think about you the entire time- in the best way.
Name: Well, he’d turned it over and over in his mind until it was practically emblazoned.
Age: You never ask a lady her age.
Occupation: Clerk at Tokyo City Hall.
Family/ friends: None of note.
Looks: Perfect.
And Nanami was never a romantic type of man to begin with - it was always work, work, work, espionage. And after a long, hard day of his duties (spying was surprisingly not as thrilling as the movies made it seem) he rarely had the time to think about anything more than that. Something…beyond just his responsibilities.
Something in the future.
He knew he wanted to retire, some day, but that was in a future he didn’t care to set a date on. Setting a date on it made it seem more real.
A picket-fence. A garden. A dog running around that he pretended to grumble at. The pitter-patter of small feet and the laughing of the one that followed it—all while he watched from the front porch. Flashes of such nonsense have run through his mind; but only in the dead of night when he could pass those off as fever dreams. And pretend to forget them in the morning.
And so Nanami Kento got married.
It was a hasty affair - about a week after he met you. Three dates and one introduction to Itadori later (it was important he liked you…because how else would the ruse of a happy family be believable?) and you were submitting a form of marriage registration to the very City Hall you worked at. New to the neighborhood, you didn’t have a lot of friends nor family to invite, which just made Nanami’s just so much easier.
To your coworkers, however, it had garnered the most amusing reaction.
Nanami had been present for a work function of yours, when you’d mustered up your courage and commented to one of your associates that he wasn’t just your boyfriend, and then you’d showed them the ring. He’s never seen more smug jaws dropped.
It’s then that he’d decided you were actually rather humorous. Humorous enough that perhaps this mission, despite its unknowing collaborators, won’t be too hellish after all…
Perhaps he’d even have a decent time playing pretend.
Before he has to leave it all - the home, the doghouse, the dog and the kid who’d be rehomed with a loving family he handpicks, and you.
.
.
.
One week before the marriage.
“You understand that he will be the most difficult target you’ve yet to encounter?”
“I understand.”
“You understand that he is highly-trained, highly-experienced, and dangerous?”
“I understand.”
The masked higher-up straightens and snarls at your assertiveness, “You understand that your mission is not over until you’ve succeeded in assassinating Nanami Kento?”
“I understand.” But no matter how much they attempt to deter you - you’re keeping your head held as high as ever. Hands behind your back. Dagger cutting through the dim lighting with its malicious glints. After so many years in this profession, you can only grow as miserable and nerve-wracked to an extent before every target simply becomes a job.
More than that; you fume silently as those damn higher-ups at the Garden underestimate you.
The Garden was a group of specially-trained assassins operating predominantly within inner-Tokyo, though you did branch off to other wards when required. And of them all, you were their #1: the best of the best, a kill count that you’d stopped measuring, the one they sent on only the most hazardous missions.
There was a reason you’d been nicknamed The Phantom.
Playboys. Politicians. Athletes and singers—you’ve seen it all. The good and the bad. The deserving and perhaps the undeserving- though you never pondered upon it.
They were all the same faceless, breathless targets to you. And your dagger always hit bullseye.
Sometimes, however…sometimes you did wonder what the bigger ripples of your jobs were. Would anyone search for them? Would anyone notice? Would anyone cry nor care? Was this, perhaps, what stopped you from finally leaving this damn place - were you deserving of such leniency?
Sometimes you did wonder whether you withheld from the simple pleasures in life because you were punishing yourself, in a way. A family. A hearth. A home. But a guilty assassin was no better than one of their own targets - there are more ways to die than just in the physical.
And so you didn’t think about it.
You didn’t do anything but glare at the higher-up that sat behind his desk, his papers, and his smooth white mask. Who were they to undermine you? “I have never failed a mission before, and I will never fail a mission ahead. I will take this job and complete it before you even know what’s happened.”
He lets out a wheezing chuckle- it was abnormal for them to be so flippant about your success rate when it comes to a job. “That’s the spirit.” He throws over a paper-thin file, “You’ll need it.”
You’ve taken down spies before- hell, you’ve even taken down other assassins. To have him act so dubious about this job? Jolting a step towards him, it really made you wonder about the nature of this particular target…
And so you’re flipping through the single page of information the Garden had on him.
Case 143
Codename: Agent 7:3 [rumored to be linked to the target’s impeccable ability to find the weakest points when attacking any building, vault, or person.]
Name: Nanami Kento.
Age: 27
Height: 6’1 - 6’2
Looks: Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Fine features. Broad-shouldered and fairly toned, he is known to be partial to suits and other clean-cut clothes above anything else.
Profession: Secret agent.
Family: Unknown.
Residence: Unknown.
Current mission: Unknown.
Status: Currently active and HIGHLY DANGEROUS.
Those last two words had been underlined twice.
But you were determined.
In the time assigned to you by the higher-ups, you deduced that you’d have about three attempts.
What’s that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? You wondered whether there was anything in there about marrying them.
.
.
.
First attempt.
Long-distance sniping wasn’t exactly the most comfortable technique.
Then again, perhaps you were just experienced enough to worry about such a thing. You’d be lucky.
You’re laid low on your front; against the slightly-damp rooftop of a building between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. The cold, hard floor pushed against your body and lifted you meters overlooking the scramble below—humans, animals, cars, all in a symbiotic collision of which contact never happened.
You’ve been married to Nanami Kento for about a week now.
And in that week you’ve taken note of his routine, his work hours, his favorite stops along the route…home. All under the guise - the guise - of being his considerate wife.
And it’d turned out to be a worthy sacrifice in the end once you’d discovered that the stoic, sensible Agent 7:3 had what you’d never have expected of him: a sweet tooth. Everyday after work, no matter how tired he is, he’d stop by the bakery he met you in—picking out a few treats to bring home to you and Itadori.
It was a cosy establishment squatted on a corner of Shibuya Crossing and next to the apothecary; vines creeping down the sides, wide-open wooden doors, and decorated with luscious baked goods in the window. The only reason you yourself had gone there was to manufacture a meeting with Nanami. But here he was right now, seated in a window booth with a book in his hands. Gold-rimmed glasses on his nosebridge. Legs stretched out beneath the table. Blond brows furrowed just a little as his eyes scanned the page.
He looked almost like something out of a movie. Perhaps he couldn’t have looked more unassuming if he tried.
You’re letting your gaze linger on him through the rifle scope for a few seconds.
And it’s in this brief pocket of time that Nanami sets his book down, takes off his glasses, and looks through the window straight in your direction. Yours.
You startle.
You take perfect aim at his head and shoot.
BANG!
Meanwhile, Nanami Kento is having a quiet relaxation - a rare moment. His ‘job’ as a psychiatrist kept him more busy than he would have expected, on top of using the position to spy on the vast Zenin members that flitted in and out of the hospital sometimes. He was about halfway through the last story of The King in Yellow, marking down notes on the Zenins in its margins, when he straightens up and glances down at his watch.
Humming to himself at the time, Nanami gathers his things and looks up at the sunny sky above. It was a beautiful day.
Thus, in prim, precise movements, he’s getting up - not too fast - and making his way to the counter to tip the serving staff extra.
CRASH!
Nanami’s taken just a single step away from where the bullet surely would have struck him—a honed head of metal that shatters the Tokyo atmosphere at over 1200 meters per second. With a deafening cracking sound, it makes the bakery window burst beneath its pressure, sending shards of glass flickering in his direction; Nanami steadily puts his open book down and lets the fragments hit the leather cover instead of him.
There’s a scream.
And then there’s chaos.
People running. Children crying. Cars stopping on the road. No one was hurt in the least - if anything, it was just that poor book he’d have to replace with a new cover.
But he understands that this line of work meant he was more used to such things than civilians- perhaps more than he should be. And he was a Wanted man - not by the law but by those who think they’re above it. And so he’s calmly walking over to the counter as the rest of the customers inside the bakery evacuate. Placing a large wad of cash on its wooden plane, he’s just about to leave before he looks more suspicious—before turning right back around and plucking out something from the lavish sweet display - your favorite. And then one more loaf of milk bread for Itadori.
Plopping them down in a bag, he makes his way out.
This morning, he’d told Itadori to meet him on the other side of Shibuya Crossing- he steps onto the zebra-patterned road right now and can see the little boy waving frantically from the other side. A ball of sunshine energy and a coat of orange far too big for him, but it’s one that he’d grow into - or at least, that’s the excuse Nanami had made when it’d turned out that he’d picked the wrong size. Damn, he needs to fix that.
For the mission, of course. Nanami shakes his head back into rationality.
Quickly crossing the road, the boy throws his arms around the blond man’s legs.
“Papa—!” He squeals, chubby hands grabbing at his three-piece suit. Itadori’s Spider-Man backpack jostles just a little as he jumps up and down, “What took you so long? It was so scawy waiting here…people are running about.”
“My apologies, Yuji.” Nanami responds, looking behind his small figure. “But I see you brought your friends along for moral support.”
Pink brows frown, “What’s mowal support?”
Behind him, the frames of Kugisaki Nobara and Fushiguro Megumi shuffle about - his (temporary) son’s best friends from school, and it was just as convenient that the black-haired boy was exactly their ticket into siphoning more information about the Zenin family - and Nanami nods at them graciously. “Thank you for walking my son here.”
“Hah, no problem.” Kugisaki crosses her arms smugly, “He was scared so of course we had to-”
“Was not—!”
Fushiguro, meanwhile, just squints at the sky. “There was a strange noise. It sounded like thunder.”
“There was, wasn’t there?” Nanami responds, looking around. The chaos had largely calmed down by now, and as police surrounded the bakery, little by little Shibuya seemed to be getting back to its usual sort of commotion—he looks down at the oblivious starry-eyed boy. “Perhaps that was your mother on her way, I always do say she fell from heaven.”
Itadori frowns, “That sounds like it would hurt.”
Fushiguro scoffs, “That sounds illogical.”
“What’s illogicwal mean?”
Kugisaki squeals, “That sounds romantic-”
“Ewwwww.”
“That’s right.” Nanami tilts his head up and looks in the direction between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. Where the shot had come from, he does not need to wonder why. “That is romantic, isn’t it?”
Again, right at you.
And from on top of that rooftop, the long-range rifle drops from your hands.
You hadn’t known that he’d be meeting the three kids afterwards. And perhaps if you’d had an inkling then…
No.
Even as you watched the miniscule shape of Nanami Kento - Agent 7:3 - throw Itadori over his shoulders and clasp both Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s hands as he carefully crossed the bustling road with them, heading in the direction of the sweets’ shop down the road (his second-favorite stop to spoil Itadori), you knew you had a job to do.
And you had to do it, even if it killed you in the process.
That evening, you’re home when he comes back.
“I’m home, darling.” Setting his heavy bags down, as usual. Letting Itadori in before gently clicking the door shut, as usual. Asking you how your day at ‘work’ was before wrapping you in a hug, as usual.
If he suspected you had anything to do with that stray gunshot at the bakery, then he’s made no indication since- you’d seen nothing on the news, either. And by now you’ve convinced yourself that the intensity of his gaze upon you on Shibuya Crossing was a mere fluke. A mere coincidence. Perhaps he was just looking at a strangely-shaped cloud above—
And then he produces the paper bag in his hands.
Looking inside, you gulp.
He’d memorized your order perfectly.
“I got the last one, can you believe it? It seems that the bakery will be undergoing some construction in the following weeks.” Nanami spoke as he shrugs off his coat, looking at you with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “It’s your luck, my love.”
“R-really…?” You didn’t know what to say. Merely holding the bag limply in your hands, as if it would detonate any second now. Just your luck, indeed…
Unsure where to even look- you’re staring after the pink-haired boy that’d rampaged inside, pretending he was Spider-Man.
“Mhm.” Nanami mutters to himself as he walks inside. “I’ll have to learn to make it at home, however…”
.
.
.
Second attempt.
Perhaps you needed some collaborators, too.
It’d been a beautiful summer-drenched Friday when Nanami had suggested taking Itadori and his two best friends out to the aquarium.
It was one of his few days off- which in and of itself was shocking. It seems that Nanami had been working himself to the bone recently, and the office had taken initiative to force the blond man into taking a holiday. You’d perked up in your love seat, a novel in your hands—but between the pages was a leaflet on poison concoctions that you’d been reading through.
“The aquarium?” You’re smiling sweetly up at your handsome husband, running about a hundred different ways you could kill him there. “Why, that sounds wonderful, Kento. I’ll get Yuji from the garden-”
“You just get yourself ready, darling.” Nanami’s voice was deep and warm - it felt like the spread of heat after drinking hot cocoa, the way it starts from the pit of your stomach before eventually ebbing into every one of your fingertips. “I’ll worry about wrangling Yuji into the bath. Take your time.”
Oh—all the assassination plans you could concoct in that time!
Attempting to keep the smile off of your face, you’re leaping up onto your feet and heading in the direction of your shared bedroom to get ready. Making just about one step- two- three…before halting in your tracks and swivelling right back around. Nanami’s keen ears catch onto the difference in the determined cadence of your footsteps and he looks back at you.
Questions ready on his tongue, “What’s wro-”
And for perhaps the first time, the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento is rendered speechless.
Because you’re placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning him towards you with a single tug- pressing your lips against his svelte cheek.
Nanami’s skin is warm against yours - and you know it only makes logical sense, but some part of you had perhaps wondered whether his body was just as cold as his professional demeanor. Despite being married you hadn’t quite…consummated the marriage yet—and he understood, he could wait. He didn’t need something if it wasn’t related to his mission, of course
And you’re trying to convince yourself that this is part of yours- to gain trust, you rationalize.
The kiss lasts less than two seconds, and your heart thump-thump-thumps against your chest as you pull away. Refusing to meet his eyes, his raised brows, his speechlessness, you’re turning heel and speed-walking to the bedroom.
All for the mission.
All for the mission.
All for the mission.
Little did you know that someone else in the house was thinking the same thing.
Nanami stands there unsteadily for a few seconds before heading to the garden to gather Itadori.
Before high noon, you were all ready and had picked up Kugisaki and Fushiguro to go to the aquarium - during which Nanami had been glad to snoop around the Zenin family home as he took the little boy off his guardian’s hands.
The aquarium was an entire ecosystem itself.
The entire world was seeped in blue, and sunlight dazzled from above the largest attractions to create patterns of gold that looked almost unearthly. Parents tugged by children, teenagers tugged by parents; friends and couples that flitted from tank to colorful tank in a near-aqueous way. Laughs and excited gasps—melding in symphony with the honking of clown horns, with the occasional burst of a balloon. It seems that many families - and you use the term because there was none better - had the same idea as yours, and the smell of sticky, sweet strawberry ice cream hits your nose as soon as you enter the area for water exhibits.
Passing by the lively tanks, hand-in-hand with Itadori, your gaze catches on something that sparks an idea in your mind. “Yuji…” You’re dropping down to be eye-level with the pink-haired little boy, “Why don’t you and your friends go and check out the touch tank over there?”
“The touch tank?” He nervously looks over to the lowly-fenced exhibit surrounded by children and a few handlers. It was a well-managed tank, widespread with nooks and crannies and rock masses along the sides, a hand-washing station before it; squeals emerged occasionally where a participant happened to touch something particularly slimy. He kicks the ground, “Hmm.”
Kugisaki wraps her arms around one of his, “Oh- c’mon, idiot.”
“Hey-”
And then she leans in and whispers in something that wasn’t a whisper at all - but what would a six-year-old know about secrets? Adults knew far too much. “Your momma obviously wants to spend some romantic time with your papa, don’t you have common sense?”
You have to bite back a laugh- sure, you wanted to be alone with him.
Though not for any reason they could conjure up.
He sputters, “I-I…” Looking over at Fushiguro for help.
Fushiguro, notably, doesn’t help.
Instead he walks over to an exhibit of sea urchins.
“I want momma and papa to be happy.” Itadori fiddles with his orange overcoat. And your heart clenches—when this is all over you don’t know how you’re going to explain this to him. But you’d be damned if you weren’t allowed to take him for yourself- wait.
You’re shaking your head.
You were thinking nonsense.
And you’re composing yourself just in time for Itadori to look up at Nanami and receive a gentle nod in reassurance - whatever he does, the older man would be content with.
Itadori lets himself be dragged away by the ginger-haired girl- only if that meant he could drag the human version of a disgruntled little sea urchin with him, too. And as the kids have their fun, you’re promising that the two of you won’t be too far away and to definitely call one of you if they need you—before you’re wrapping both arms around one of Nanami’s.
Hugging him to you, you peer into his gold-flecked eyes softly. “I’d really like to see the blue-ringed octopus exhibit, Kento.”
He slightly coughs out his answer, “A-and so we shall, my love.”
And so here was the plan: the venomous creatures were the least-visited. So you’d drag the spy away where one couldn’t see, get him distracted by them, and knock him unconscious with the chloroform-soaked handkerchief you had carefully packaged in one pocket. Dagger in your other pocket. Then you’d finish the job, of course.
Then, outside, was a Discretion Team from the Garden that would discard the evidence, and let you take the kids back home- perhaps even concoct some excuse about ‘a work thing’ coming up at the hospital and causing him to leave.
It was perfect.
It was perfect.
Next to the squid exhibition and the camouflage section, Nanami Kento was completely and utterly entranced by the octopus exhibit. His face paints in a blue light as he watches the alien-like movements of the creatures, so much so that he doesn’t even notice you slipping behind him—digging through your pockets before plastering his face with the damp handkerchief.
Nanami’s hand comes up to touch your wrist, though you’re unmoveable.
He breathes the chloroform in deep.
And then he wavers.
You got him.
Your heart rate spikes, thinking it’s time- fuck, you’ve finally gotten him. Keeping one hand with the chloroform pressed up against him, you’re just about to reach for the dagger snuck into your pocket. He was on the verge of being completely knocked out.
But someone on the verge of being completely knocked out wouldn’t tighten his grip on your wrist, would he?
Your heart runs cold.
Preventing you from grabbing your weapon, you feel Nanami smile beneath the thin fabric. Before imitating a sneeze into the handkerchief- “A—choo! Thank you, my love. How did you know I was allergic to the smell of squid ink?”
“You-” And you’re tugging your hand - and the venomous handkerchief - away from him as though his skin burned.
“Yes?”
But he keeps his fingers intertwined with yours even as you pull away, letting them dangle between you two when you’re stepping into his line of sight once more and assessing every inch of him. His eyes? Clear. His gait? Steady. His expression? Normal (handsome).
No signs of dizziness, fatigue, or the signs of your plan working in motion.
But the chloroform—
Eventually, he lets your hands fall limply to your sides, and you’re looking down at the fabric in shock. Nanami Kento was still standing- and he hums as he turns back to the blue-ringed octopuses; slithering underneath an arch of coral as they, too, went into hiding.
He clasps his hands behind his back and speaks to no one in particular, “Odd, isn’t it? I’m immune to 562 poisons and over a thousand toxic substances, but it’s squid ink that makes my system flare up.”
Your jaw drops. Silently, solemnly, you find yourself standing beside him. “You’re…immune…”
He merely nods, staring through the tank. Gaze on something far away.
“I bet that was difficult.” There was a Poisons Division in the Garden as well, and you’d heard of the sheer torture they had to go through to make themselves immune to such things: one could make the body a scab to all things toxic, but underneath that was still a wound. You yourself knew that all too well. Ultimately, you say. “Must have to do with your work as a psychiatrist.”
Nanami nods, “Must have.”
There’s a shriek then the pitter-patter of small footsteps.
You’re so wound-up and taut that it makes you jump slightly closer to Nanami- and he’s readily steadying you against his side. Arms on your shoulders.
“See, I told you they were being all romantic—!”
Nanami holds back a chuckle, “We should get going.” And unbeknownst to you, his eyes follow…follow…follow a man with dark hair streaked with grey, one that could only ever belong to the Zenin family. Zenin Naobito was lurking in the corners of the aquarium, the most unassuming place for one to conduct secret meetings with contractors that pretended they weren’t here for the same reason.
Because why else would Nanami go on a family outing, right?
Right?
.
.
.
Third (and final) attempt.
“—and don’t forget your second change of clothes.” The only thing preventing Itadori from darting out of the house and into any oncoming cars was your single hand hooked around the handle of his Spider-Man backpack.
The only thing keeping him in one place.
Somewhat.
With the other, you’re attempting to shove down the spare t-shirt and shorts you’d picked out for him. Knowing your son, there wasn’t any sort of trouble, puddle, or cake batter that he wouldn’t somehow find and get into. And you don’t know what sort of house the Zenins ran, but you were determined to be on their good side.
And so you’re huffing and puffing, beads of sweat forming at your forehead, as you attempt to push it down the humble space- honestly, you didn’t understand why they didn’t just make these things a bit bigger. Just the slightest bit.
At this rate, he’s never going to…
“Itadori Yuji.” Your voice comes out deadpan, and the pink-haired boy turns to you with wide, innocent eyes.
Sweetly, “Yes, momma?”
“Why have you packed your entire Hot Wheels collection for a sleepover?”
Whatever he spouts about wanting to show Fushiguro and Kugisaki, whatever explanations he’s giving about moral support (honestly, where did he even learn such a thing?), goes in one ear and out the other.
Because yes—Fushiguro had invited Itadori and Kugisaki over for a sleepover at their home. It was convenient given that the two boys were practically next-door neighbors, and after the success of their aquarium visit you were hesitant to part the trio. Thus, it seems that Fushiguro had all but thrown a tantrum and attempted to run away from home in order to convince his guardian to agree to a sleepover. Which was sweet, of course.
But this was Itadori’s first, and any mother would be nervous about that sort of thing- wait.
But you weren’t a mother…technically. This was all a ruse for your mission, and so you’re shaking your head and pushing the bundled-up clothes deeper into his backpack, perhaps in order to drive that point home.
You’re interrupted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Let me take over, my love.”
You’re shifting aside to let Nanami handle the little issue swiftly—with a firm hand - thick fingers, prominent veins, that wedding ring on his left hand - he tugs Itadori back inside the house. “Now now, sunshine. What have we said about taking our toys out of the house?”
He tilts his head up n’ juts his little bottom lip out, “To take only one.”
Nanami lifts the bag just slightly to the side and takes a glance, “And does this look like only one?”
“No…” Itadori sighs.
Soon, you’re finding just about half the Hot Wheels production line laid out, side-by-side and color-coordinated, on the threshold to your home. It looked like a miniature parking lot of which Itadori grumbled as he pushed the clothes into the newly-presented space inside the bag and zipped it shut. Pouting.
Nanami chuckles gently, crouching down so that he was eye-level with the boy. ”You know momma and papa love you, right, sunshine?”
“I know…”
“And you understand why it would be difficult to take all the cars?”
Itadori takes a second to think, before giving you both a determined nod. “I do.” And you’re feeling something within you soar- but you’re forgoing wondering just what it means to feel so proud for the boy.
“Good.” Your blond husband stands with heave, taking one of Itadori’s arms and turning around to look at you. “Say bye-bye to momma, Yuji.”
He turns with a beaming smile and a chubby arm raised in goodbye. “Bye-bye, momma.”
“I’ll see you in a bit, my love.” Nanami leans in and—presses a sweet, sweet peck to your cheek. Heat seems to sear from where his lips touched, spreading across your chest and all the way down to your toes. You feel your heat batter against your ribcage- fuck.
Was this what he’d felt the other day?
Two seconds; it’s as far as your intimacy as a married couple goes. And in that time Itadori brings his hands up to cover his eyes with a giggled, “Ewwwww—!”
With an amused shake of his head, the father-son duo set off. Since the Zenin household was in the same neighborhood, about a street away, it was only about a five-minute walk to get there.
Which is why you had to act fast.
Nanami Kento would be home in less than ten minutes - he wouldn’t have Itadori to slow down his long strides on the way back. And you’re standing there with the front door ajar as they leave, waving…waving…waving-
The very moment their backs disappear, you’re slamming the door shut and racing to the kitchen.
There, you’re reaching up to the very topmost cabinet: grabbing the new liquorice-flavored cereal you knew that no one in the house would touch. Of course, you’d emptied out the cereal this very morning.
And all that remained in the cardboard box inside was a slim vial you’d bought from the apothecary.
It wasn’t exactly what one would consider menacing, but it was exactly what you needed for your Hail Mary attempt at completing your mission. It was made of a crystal-clear glass, fashioned into a reticello design, with a label containing some information and a stopper of gold that made the contents within seem far more elegant than they were in reality.
Dark brown powder that looked like ground up dirt.
An unassuming little substance you’d rippled with excitement over at the apothecary’s. So much so that you’d damn-near didn’t hear half the things she said- but it’s fine. You were an assassin, right?
And what was an assassin that didn’t know how to use the most powerful poison in the nation?
Material XXX.
You’ve never seen it with your own two eyes. Nanami might have been immune to chloroform, but there was no living person on Earth that could resist this.
Oh—it was beautiful…And it mixed so perfectly with the ground-up coffee you were adding to your coffee maker. One steaming hot cup of coffee had already been made and upon the kitchen counter beside you, it let out hot swirls of heat as you tampered with the other one. Sweetly fragrant.
You smile- he’ll be dead in one sip. And, sure, you might have some explaining to do to Itadori - but doesn’t all good coffee spark conversation?
You’re still running through the list of excuses in your mind once the brewing comes to a stop.
And just in time, the front door clicks! open.
“He was so excited he tripped five times.” Nanami’s deep sigh echoes into the kitchen. You hear the shuffling sounds of him taking his shoes off, shrugging his coat onto the rack, stepping inside. “Though the other two were just the same- could you please make us some coffee, darling, while I get started on dinner?”
“You’ll ruin your dinner, Kento.” You call out to him, “And I already have.”
His handsome head pops out from the door, golden strands slightly tousled from the walk. Nanami breathes in the unmistakable scent of coffee piercing the kitchen air, and smiles. “You’re the best.”
“In many ways.” Leaning back against the counter, you’re handing his freshly-made cup - poured into a large mug that said #1 Papa - to him.
Nanami’s large hands pluck it from yours and he whispers, “Thank you.” Looking down at the scalding concoction that still swirled within, “I really mean it, you know.”
“What?” You’re looking up at him in surprise.
“You’re the best.”
Your fingers grow tighter around your own mug: World’s Best Momma.
“Drink your coffee before it gets cold, Kento.”
He hums through a smile, before blowing on the similarly-fragrant steam. It smelled of jasmine and spring and something like love; but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? It’s almost a tease—watching Nanami swirl the coffee around a bit, watching him affirm his grip, watching him leeeean his stern lips in before-
“Aren’t you going to drink up, my love?” You almost startle - Nanami was staring at you through his blond tresses, brows furrowed in slight concern. “Are you alright? You look a little…tense.”
“I-I’m perfectly alright—” You hasten to explain- if Nanami got suspicious now and refused to drink his coffee, then there was no way you’re completing this mission. Without wasting anymore time, you’re bringing your coffee up to your own lips - though you don’t take a sip just yet. “Just thinking about work, you know how it is…”
He nods. “We’ve both been really busy lately, haven’t we? I apologize if I’ve made you feel a little lonely these days-”
“Not at all-”
“But still.” Nanami was determined. Those molten brown eyes of his seemed to be pinning you down to the tiled kitchen floor, and the heat of your body contrasted with its frigidness. “I apologize. Tonight, let’s just take some time for the two of us—we can watch a show, we can do some puzzles, tell me about your favorite book and we can read it together.”
You’re refusing to meet his eyes- you can’t. “That…that would be lovely.”
“To us.” Your husband - the spy, you have to remind yourself - outreaches his arm and clinks! your two mugs together in a toast.
“To us.” You weakly whisper.
And then you take a sip and watch him do the same.
Immediately, you know something’s wrong.
From the slightly sour- slightly sweet- taste coating your tongue—to the way that Nanami takes a long, deep swig and sighs out in satisfaction. He doesn’t drop dead. He doesn’t grab his throat in agony. He doesn’t even stagger where he’s standing as he loses consciousness-
Nanami sets his coffee mug down and grins.
“Poison working for you, darling?” And your own drops from your hand and shatters. “Oh dear, let me take care of that-”
“Stop.”
In the middle of reaching for the sweeping pan, Nanami halts and looks at you with slightly unfocused, glazed eyes. Heat rising to his cheeks. Breaths coming out in murked pants. Ones that you were sure mirrored your own.
You felt as if you had a fever five times over and someone had still set you on fire—
Your temperature was soaring through the roof and searing through your skin, making your clothes feel clammy and clinging onto your form. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your temple. But even more than that was the way that- fuck, it was the heat between your damn legs. It was aching. Something deep and primal—something clawing at you from your insides and making you shudder as you lock eyes with Nanami once again.
Before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you. And nothing more- did you want something more?!
You’re boring into his eyes and finding out that he wasn’t any better. Not in the least.
In fact, he’d drunk more of the potioned coffee than you.
Your wettened lips part and out comes the only thing you know how to say right now, “Kento.”
He jolts at the sound of his first name wrapped around your tongue. So sexual.
And his own words come out a gravelly croon, “Didn’t read the label, assassin?” That smile of his looked almost feral in the light you were looking at him right now. “Because I did.”
He attempts to pull away to show the label to you- the vial of powder he’d found.
The plans he’d ruined.
The secrets he’d discovered.
The temperature in the kitchen was near-sizzling.
But the only thing you can think to do is claw your hands outwards and clutch his white shirt with an unfounded ferocity. One of his buttons pop! off and end up on the kitchen floor.
Chuckling, he gives up letting you see the label for yourself. If you won’t let him go, then…without a single warning, Nanami’s leaning in so that his pretty lips graze your ear. The front of his toned chest pushes up against you- and perhaps the only thing that helps you focus is the rapid, ravenous ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! of his heart. Pummeling. “Because if you did, then perhaps you’d have seen that Material XXX isn’t supposed to come into contact with caffeine, my love…”
You gasp, hands twisting even deeper into his button-up.
“Because then, it doesn’t become a poison at all.” The long line of his nose glides down your throat, sending shivers skittering across wherever he was in contact with. He stops against a spot you knew was sensitive and softly blooooooows—cold air against hot skin.
You shiver.
And he merely continues in a rasp, “Because then, it becomes a substance that draws out your deepest desires. Amplifying pre-existing needs that the host contains, those that might be hidden due to…other reasons. So consider it an experiment of sorts. Can you recognize what this concoction is for you, darling?”
“A-an aphrodisiac.” Your eyes threaten to flutter shut- the mere breeze of his breath makes your thighs clench.
He nods. “An aphrodisiac.”
“How long have you known?” More honest than ever; the question blurts out of your lips.
Nanami takes the time to think, “Since the sniping in Shibuya is when I knew.” With lewd, lethargic eyes he looks you up and down- up and down…“But to be honest, I’ve always suspected.”
You growl—“So then you know I’m here to kill you-”
“So try me.”
You lunge.
.
.
.
And perhaps that was how he got here.
Nanami feels the very pointed tip of your heel graze his bulging erection- and he bucks. Not enough to finally free himself, but enough that it makes the chair cricket—and you’re looking down at him through your lashes.
He’s forced to stop his head from throwing backwards, bearing his sensitive throat. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the fact that he’s wanted you for so fucking long now- but he feels zaps of white-hot pleasure course through his body.
All the way from the in-betweens of his meaty thighs, riveting like snakes into every one of his limbs. Eventually up to his poor brain.
Slow and steady; you’re watching the fabric of Nanami’s trousers darken. Seeping and spreading the more he tried to press his legs together to hide it.
And once you’re roverin’ your foot over his cock- he moans.
Grin spreading, the further you step down on him, the louder those squelches from his puddle of cum were. “Awww, already, Kento? They didn’t have that in your file.”
Somehow through it all, he manages out such a ravenously handsome grin. Blond hairs disarrayed. Tie askew. Shirt unbuttoned down until you could see golden hairs peeking out. “Th-they probably didn’t have a lot of things.”
“True.” You respond, stepping down harder and he gasps- “But remember who’s in charge now.”
Nanami looks at you through unfocused, half-lidded eyes. “Always was you, darling.”
“Flatterer.” Harder.
“Fuh-fuuuuck…” He spits. Head dropping forwards, a thin line of drivel escapes from his parted mouth and adds onto the mess below. You’re watching it glisten underneath the dim lighting of the bedroom - one you’d somehow manage to drag the blond spy into. “Do that again and I’m going to cream my pants once more, my love.”
Your jaw slightly drops at the matter-of-fact way he was phrasing it. The Nanami Kento you’d been married to never uttered a word like this- “Well…”
“Is that what you’d like?” And, suddenly, his eyes are sharper than before. You had your leg raised so that you could step on his most sensitive bits, but you failed to realize that also meant he had access to your own…to rub his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat yearning for the cream. “Is that what you want your husband to do in repentance?”
“W-we’re not even really married-” Taken aback. Heat flaring where his pants fanned you- your dagger trembles where you held it against his throat. Close enough to cut.
And yet he was still craning his face - his mouth - as near as he could get to your cunt. Mouth watering. A crimson bead where your blade was rested-
“But we could be.” And you’re lost for words. Nanami just looked so pathetic beneath you in ways you never could’ve even imagined: eyes blown wide and dazed, mouth permanently unhinged as he inched towards your soaked underwear, breaths getting more n’ more labored the longer you kept pinning his clothed cock down with your heel.
He had his hands cuffed behind him and was aching to get between those legs - and you’re unsure whether you should blame just the aphrodisiac. Desperation seeps into his words, “But we could consummate this marriage.”
Your lips part.
He doesn’t waste a second.
“Seven times over just to make up for the time we’ve lost.” And then he’s tipping his head back and bearing you with a grin, “Fuck my cock raw, my wife.”
And how could you ever say no to that?
You don’t—instead, what you’re doing is taking advantage of the needy way his jaw was unhinged in a soundless prayer. One that you’re answering with a direct spit- lips pursed, you’re letting a glittering glob of saliva paste against his lips.
Purposefully missing the precise target, the lewd translucent liquid splatters against the side of his lips before ultimately trickling inwards. And you’re watching with your jaw dropped as his Adam’s apple bobs- as he swallows.
Perhaps that was the last straw.
The tip of your glinting blade draws a perfect line down Nanami’s middle - just enough pressure to scrape a harmless line of white down his exposed skin. And then you’re slashing those ropes that bound him to the chair.
Metal restraints, you watch him semi-free himself.
And you’re turning around and walking to the bed.
Sitting at the very edge.
Resting your palms behind you.
Your legs spread-spread-spreeeeeead wide enough that he gets a view good enough to make his slightly-teary eyes bulge. Lips parting. Cock twitching. You’re tilting your head casually to the side and beckoning him—“If you want it, come and get it, Nanami Kento.”
Handcuffed and hands behind his back, the famous agent has no other choice than to get on his knees and crawl over to you.
Fucking crawling.
The carpet chafes beneath his knees, the sound echoes as he inches and inches- torturously slow. Body bowed. Chest heaving.
Whilst you don’t move a single degree.
It might have been hours- it might have been fucking eons that are passing by before Nanami reaches the foot of the bed; burning up far more from the fever of wanting you than any aphrodisiac in existence. He honed senses raise into the air - and he’s getting a whiff of that honeyed fragrance from your pussy. Almost singing to him, surely it wasn’t just because of that powder that he thinks it’s the most delicious-smelling thing on Earth.
His stomach nearly growls.
And then Nanami’s between your parted legs and famished.
All good spies deserve a treat, right?
Before you know it, Nanami’s leaned in and having his lips glued to your clothed cunt. Fucking glued. They were puckered and pert—both pairs of lips, and the vibrations of his moan make your back arch as he tastes you for the very first time.
Just the most innocent kiss.
The first time that he’s getting everything he’s fucking dreamed of.
Because whenever you left the house dressed so prettily, whenever you hummed at the taste of your favorite baked good, whenever you bent over to pick up something- you didn’t know it, but…Nanami stared.
Oh, how he stared n’ licked his hungry lips.
Wondering just how sweet your pretty, pretty cunt would taste - just how fucking sooooft and tender your pussylips would feel once he’s finally giving them that nice French kiss they deserved. All up on his tongue.
Despite being such a gentleman to everyone around him—who’d have guessed that Nanami Kento would have the dirtiest thoughts of them all? That whenever he gazed upon you with that ‘ruse’ of affection, he was actually hiding something far…far darker.
The dirtiest thoughts that he was acting upon right now.
With his honed tastebuds swipin’ down your wet slit, Nanami counts every bead of slick that you’re leaking through your panties. Sugary sweet. He’s boring his smoldering gaze into yours as he—with a slurp! lets those pearly translucent droplets collect on the tip of his tongue, and then glide, glide, gliiiiiide deep down to the back of his throat.
Blond lashes flickering his eyes shut at the flavorful taste, Nanami groans.
“C-can I prove it now…?”
You almost don’t recognize his voice.
The tone of it sends fire shooting straight between your legs- and without thinking twice, you lean your weight on your hands and edge even closer. Whining, “Prove what, Kento?”
And he seems almost embarrassed to answer.
Almost shy now—
Though the heat of the aphrodisiac and the globules of slick stuck to his chin were making him more of an honest man by the second. “I need to prove that m’worthy of being your husband, pussy.”
Was he talking to you or…?
Fuck.
Sense coming back to him in bursts and stutters, Nanami shakes his head briefly- “I mean-” A blush rises to the tips of his ears, though his eyes remain as starved as ever—“I need to prove that m’worthy of being a good husband to both you and-” His biceps bulge as he struggles against the handscuffs briefly, pathetically and lovingly nuzzling the hot in-betweens of your folds. “-this girl right here.”
The way he says it…fuck.
He gives off the impression of a man that’s been starved for ages- for eons. There was something almost wolfish imprinted onto his expression, and the whites of his teeth feature an appearance between your legs as Nanami leans in; with knitted brows and a ragged emphasis, he’s asking - begging - once more. “Please-” Mahogany eyes just so earnest, “Marry me?”
Marry him?
Your jaw drops.
Was he so pussydrunk already that he’s genuinely proposing?
Or was it just the aphrodisiac—you’re not waiting to find out.
Readily, Nanami only needs to feel a single shove of your glistenin’ wet pussy against his mouth - before he’s letting his eyes roll to the back of his skull. Farther and farther. Almost blindly, he uses his pointed chin to dig himself even deeper. And he couldn’t spread your pretty thighs apart with his arms, so he’s resorting to fitting his burly body - shoving your legs apart with his broad shoulders - until he gets closer to your core. Your dripping wet core,
Simply soaked.
Just a single strand of blond sticks to his forehead—usually-slicked hair coming out of its neat style now. And Nanami isn’t shy to sliiiide apart your drenched panties with his tongue, then start pressing kiss after open-mouthed kiss.
Wide-mouthed. Gaping.
Just the most teasing, faintish whispers of his tongue. Feverish in speed.
The sopping, smooth edge of his tastebuds lodge inside and slathers itself in all of your syrupy juices. Jaggedly probin’ in and out. “Is this how my wife wants it? Does this, mmm- feel good, my love?”
And you hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed until you’re fluttering them open—looking through tear-filled lashes at the handsome man between your legs. “Y-yessss…deeper, Kento.”
His eyes suddenly clear in urgency.
Mind befogged with lust - but he’s alert enough to recognize your pretty pleas. And without a single second wasted, the slashes of his tongue scour even deeper inwards. With all his slick inches he’s tunneling into your pussy- and your toes curl at the sensation of him driving into spots unknown. “A-and?” He spits, “Is this good?”
He’s just so eager to please. “Nghhh, yes.” Blabbering out, “Just a bit more to the side now, honey.”
Obediently, he cocks his head and angles his kisses. The layers of his lips smush with your delicate pussy, until it was as if he’s stuck there by adhesive - you don’t think he’s pulling away enough to even breathe…and he wouldn’t mind forgoing his own comfort to make sure you’re feeling your best. “Is this good?” The big, bad spy that has all of Tokyo’s underbelly trembling pleads.
“Yes-”
“And what else?”
“Wh-what…?” Stare widening in surprise.
That cute expression of yours - the way your cunt seems to splash! another wad of your slick onto his ready tastebuds - makes him rattle at his chains. As though to break through. As though to ravish you whole.
But the only thing he’s succeeding in doing is letting gravity stoop his face even lower onto your pulsating pussy. Every throb was just so delicous—and Nanami swears he’s feeling his own heartbeat synchronize with the rapid cadence of it. “What else do you need from your husband? Do you need more tongue?”
Just then, you’re feeling the ridged texture of his tastebuds start drilling even deeper. That cutely pink tip of his tongue starts bludgeoning inside as though reaching for your very cervix.
And he’s hatching out something- something almost delirious. “Do you need it sloppier? Because I can- mmm, do sloppier.” The cacophonous noise from beneath your swollen folds starts growing in both pitch and volume as he increases his speed, thick, ribbony strings of slick coating the edges of his mouth - “I can make it faster. Slower. Sexier.”
You’re straining your hamstrings to push off the springy mattress, “P-please—”
“I can eat you out like a husband should.”
Munch-munching away at everything your pussy had to offer. Everything and anything.
He’s jostling his body so painfully close to yours- skin against skin. Lips against lips. Without the gesticulation of his hands to balance himself, it was rare that he’d find a moment to push up and part from your pussy - and whenever he did, it just meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough.
Nanami chases after even the slightest movements of your restless hips. And there’s a slight crack emanating from his metal handcuffs when the straight top of his nose taps your throbbing clit.
“Tell me, my wife—tell me what you want.”
It feels like you’re being struck by shards of lighting itself, “J-just like that, Kento-”
“Just like that? Or even more- hah.” He pants out in a raspy wheeze. Nanami’s voice was low- lower than you can ever recall it being. “Don’t hafta lie to me, darling. Your husband can give you aaaaanything and everything.”
A shallow moan cracks at the back of your throat by the way he’s emphasizing his words- notably by reeling his thick tongue out and drag-drag-draaaagging it all across the forefront of your cunt. “Th-then…ngh, I want whatever it is that you want, Kento.”
His golden brows shoot up to his hairline, “What’s- hck! that, my love?”
And in a split-second - perhaps it’s your assassin side coming out, perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s dialing every emotion up to the max - you’re grabbing a searing hold of Nanami’s pale tresses. A proper fistful that lets you jerk the strong man off of your cunt and gazing his glistening peripherals up at you.
He’s drawing his mouth away with a wet plop! The jutted-out edge of his lower lip trembles at the thought of not being in contact with your tasty cunt, and you have to tap the side of Nanami’s face to get him to fully focus his attention on you.
It takes a little while for his lava-like eyes to peer up at you. “Y-yes, my wife…?”
Chuckling just a bit at the way he’s lost his train of thought - perhaps every thought he’s ever conjured up once he’s tasting your cunt. “What do you want, Kento? Tell me what you’d like…tha’s gonna please me the most.”
“But I beg to-”
“I know you want it.” And he didn’t forget about those ruthless heels of yours, did he? The broad frame of Nanami Kento shudders at the pointed sensation of your heels gliding up his open thighs. Trouser-covered and cum-drenched, you’re feeling for the bumpy area where his fat cock throbbed- and crushing down on it with the flats of your shoe. “This thing doesn’t lie to me, honey. Just tell me what the little spy wants.”
“I…fuck, this is embarrasing- this is so ungentlemanly-” But that was a ship long sailed. And he finds himself drooping even further into the heavenly in-betweens of your legs.
And you’re witnessing the veins on his beefy forearms pop out, the skin of his forehead perspiring- and it almost feels to you as if the blond man was holding himself back at this very moment. A shiver runs through you as you wonder just what him giving his all would mean for you…
And his swollen mouth cracks open, “Please…” And it’s not you that’s starting to beg…it’s Nanami himself. Deep and guttural wrenched out from his voicebox, he sends rumbles across your body like thunder. “Please push me even d-deeper into your cunt.” Nuzzlin’ your clit with his nose, he murmurs. “Push me so far deep- ride my tongue- use me until my mouth’s raw and I can’t even breathe.”
And you know you’re the one that asked him…but you can’t help but let your jaw hang speechlessly.
“I need you to make you c-cum on my tongue five times before I can call myself your husband.”
The answer takes some time to choke out, and when it finally does you’re feeling embarrassed at the slightly pitchy tone it takes. “Then do it.” With his sweaty strands plastered to your palm, and your heel being used to steady yourself—and push down on his convulsing cock. You give him no warning before pushing him down deeper.
He sputters-
“I’m going to ride your face now, Kento.” And you’re shocked by your ability to keep your words from slurrin’ together now. “Do it- do everything it is that you want to do. But no pulling back to breathe. No cumming until I do.”
And he’s peering up at you with the most loving half-lidded eyes, “Yes, my wife.”
That man was a goner for his wife—you.
“Hngh—mmm- K-Kento!” It’s just about the only thing your spit-drivelled lips can echo right now. The sound travels across the room before bouncin’ into Nanami’s eardrums, and he swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard. Because in a sultry split-second, he’s loosening his body up and letting you pin his face between your legs.
Then veering your hips upwards and upwards.
Frenzied, squelching movements of your hips. Your body was just crashing into his in the most sinful collision, and it was making the skin of his high cheekbones start to redden and sting- Nanami barely has the time to part his lips and take in an inhale—
Before your sopping pussylips are plastering to his mouth once more. And he’s lappin’ his tongue away wilding onto every inch he could reach - all around the hidden crevices of your cunt, before entering through your tight hole.
Nanami’s muscle was just so thick that he made you keen with the intrusion of his tastebuds. Feeling up the hugging walls of your channel, before you’re swearing he’s reaching for that one spot that made your eyes roll.
“Shit-” You’re babbling out, hands shaking where you held him down. “Sh-shiiiiiit, just like that. Does that feel good for you too, baby?”
He’s feeling the flaps of his lips start to swell and his lungs ache for breath- “Yes.” He’s never answered anything truer in his life - and it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac, though it did only seem to be getting stronger by the second. “Fuck—yes, and d-don’t keep doing that with your heel or m’gonna cum.”
“What?” You ask innocently - fully knowing the ministrations you were carrying out beneath your line of sight and his. Your heel was flattened over his massive bulge and smoothing up and down, up and down, up and down—practically jerking Nanami off though more with the pressure you were pitting against him.
The nib of your heel grazes his mushroomy tip and he bucks- “M’gonna cum, my love…”
Almost in agony.
You smile as you reply, “Me too.” Before leaning down just the slightest inch in proximity of him - as though sharing a secret between just the two of you in this world. “But that’s only one of five.”
He grunts.
Fuck- he didn’t want to disappoint his beautiful wife. He can’t. He couldn’t.
And as though crazed, Nanami’s flickering the inches of his tongue through and through that dripping entrance of yours. In and out. Stirrin’ around his lengthy muscle in juuuust the way he knew would hit those pretty orifices that made you cry out so loud, Nanami’s focusing on your g-spot for a few seconds at a time to make sure you’re experiencing as much pleasure as possible with every thrust.
Through it all, his nose remains pressed up against your throbbing clit. “One down, four to go.”
“What do you…” Your toes curl then—because Nanami had predicted it before you had. With a sudden flash behind your eyes, you’re crashing into one wave of pleasure after the other - starting up from the pleasure-riddled area between your legs and climbing up into every cranny of your body afterwards.
Your arms go limp. Your back arches perfectly.
“Sh-shiiiiiit- that feels so good.” Your head tilts backwards as the sudden euphoria overtakes you, and your heartbeat only seems to accelerate by twofold after you take a look down at Nanami himself.
His eyes were rolling to the depths of his skull, until only the whites of them were visible. His mouth was agape and his body was almost moving on autopilot—pure carnal instinct simply lappin’ and lappin’ away at your cunt - sending sparks roaring through your body every time his dexterous nose struck your clit. His cock was twitching away furiously beneath your long heels.
And you’re quite sure that Nanami himself was on the verge of an orgasm- “Don’t cum.” You’re pressing down on his cock.
He jolts ever-so-slightly - though his movements don’t falter for a single second. And he was slightly muffled from his…position, though you do manage to make out a scoff. “Who did you think I was?” Nanami responds in a gravelly tone, “M’your husband, darling. And a husband is always supposed to keep his vows.”
You don’t mention that you technically didn’t have a ceremony with vows and everything.
Because in the next mere moments, Nanami has his tongue thrusted back inside and his chin glued to the bottom of your wet slit. No matter how much you’re bucking and moaning, he’s determined to accomplish that little wish you—he had had.
And with the textured swabs of his tongue, he’s pulling out one more orgasm. Two more. Three more-
You think you’ve lost count by the time you’re all sprawled out and spent on the bed. Throwing your head back, letting your heels hook onto his shoulders and tug him even closer - you’re all but begging for mercy as dopamine leaves stars bursting behind your eyelids.
Your cunt was just so heated and raw at this point - though the aphrodisiac kept your slippery slick coming until it was drenchin’ Nanami all the way down to his collarbones.
His invisible dusting of blond on top of his upper lip glistens with the sap that clings onto it, and Nanami peers up at you with hollow, drunken eyes finally. “How many was that, my love?”
Would he believe it if you said you didn’t fucking know—
Apparently you didn’t have to remain wondering, because those words are leaving your lips mindlessly. They take a few seconds to penetrate Nanami’s own foggy mind- but with something akin to a crooked grin, he raises his head. “S’that so?”
You’re shivering once he pulls his tongue out and presses a loud peck on top of your cunt.
“My poor, poor wife—did your husband go too hard?” And you’re not sure what’s in his intense gaze that makes you gesture out a single nod - an embarrassing nod. But you’re doing so anyway, and you hiss when he presses a final kiss and raises himself up onto his haunches. “But I have kept my end of the deal, darling. Didn’t your husband make you proud?”
“Y-yes—”
“Didn’t your husband make you cum?”
“Yes-”
“Not five times, yet.” And through sheer will and the use of his incredible core strength, the trained spy stands up without breaking a sweat. “There’s one more to go…”
“Oh- let me.” Using whatever strength hasn’t been wrung out of you from the marathon of your highs - barely worrying about your refractory period - you’re surging upwards and reaching behind him. Those handcuffs you’d put him in were professional-grade and used on the job sometimes, nothing like the kinky toys that one might normally prefer.
Though this wasn’t initially supposed to be play at all.
And perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s clouding your judgement- you know you can’t keep blaming it any longer when…But you’re soon looking around the room for the key that you’d dropped.
You think you had a spare in the bedside cabinet but you couldn’t be too sure- but then again, the original must have fallen somewhere on the carpet during the height of your nervous excitement—
“Looking for the key, mm?” Nanami’s deep croon jolts you out of your single-minded mission. And you somewhat jolt as you look up at his impressive height; his handsome face.
Your cunt had pooled slick right down to his clothes- the collar of it noticeably darker than the rest of the fabric, with his buttons shining as though polished a thousand times over. And his trousers were just as ruined.
Blond hair completely unruly now. Pupils blown-out through his glasses.
His lips were all reddened n’ puffy with the prolonged contact with the sweetest dessert he’s ever tasted: you. And he’s wearing your slathered layers of slick like a medal of honor, glistening proudly across his mouth and jawline—evidence of his desperation. He husks, “No need to worry yourself, my sweet wife.” Just then, he’s straining his forearms to pull at the handcuffs with brute force - one vein on his forehead popping, skin flushing an even deeper red.
You don’t think he’s going to do it - no one’s ever escaped you when you used those.
But suddenly there’s a screech of metal and a clink!
Before Nanami Kento’s rubbing at the slight bite of metal upon either of his wrists. His free wrists. His unrestrained wrists.
His unrestrained hunger as he then looms his chiselled body above yours- as you push yourself further and further up to the headboard, Nanami follows. He follows. He follows. He follows until your back hits the wooden panel connected to the wall, and those half-lidded eyes bore down upon you deliciously.
“Can we consummate our marriage now, my love?”
Your words could not be more sheerly needy- “Yes.”
And soon enough you’re helping Nanami out of his button-up, his vest, his trousers. Only his boxers stand in the way now and you’re just impatiently tugging them down—finding your jaw dropping at the sight of him.
Because Nanami was big as far as you’d felt.
But this was…what was that saying about it always being the quiet ones? Nanami’s length laid thick and throbbing between his milky legs; the tip of his shaft flushed an angry red, he’s leaking hot precum in lines down your inner thighs.
Dribbling out from the heavy volumes of his ballsack, and ending up coating his cherry tip in a cute white.
In the saturated air, his cock twitches upwards a few times. Makin’ stray beads gliiiiide along the vein-covered length of his shaft- down and doooooown to soak into his burnt golden curls at the very base. The entire image was just so sexy that you can’t help but let out a moan—
And Nanami chuckles before he turns his tender lovin’ eyes towards you. “Don’t worry. You’re next, darling.”
Your clothes are shed at an even faster rate.
Soon enough, it’s just him sandwichin’ his bulbous tip between your folds. Too big to immediately slide into your cunt, too covered in so many wads of your slick - slippery with your own sap - that he occasionally eases inside and makes you yelp at the stretch. “It just feels so- fuck, I just know s’gonna feel so good.” Your hands claw down Nanami’s broad back, “I need you, Kento. Badly.”
“How badly?” He crouches over you, lips centimeters from yours. “I need to make sure you’re not jus’ talking out of your pussy, my wife.”
“I’m not—” You promise. “I need you- fuck, I need you.”
“Need me to what, however?” Nanami cocks his head and almost meanly asks- he never knew he could make you sputter so much. It was just so fun watching your pretty mouth fall slightly apart as you registered his teasing—it almost made him want to spit between your lips.
He does.
And Nanami continues shoving his expanding erection just between your thighs, “Do you need me to take this pretty pussy like it’s our wedding night? Do you need me to m-make love to this pretty pussy like we’ve been married for years? What is it…?”
You’re mouthing something that his popped eardrums don’t hear.
Leaning in, “What’s that, darling?”
And so you’re repeating - just a little louder than before. “I n-need you to fuck me like you’re trying to prove you’re my husband.”
Just like before.
And that seems to flip a switch in the stern, stoic Nanami Kento.
Just a little.
Because the next time you’re blinking your teary eyes open- it’s to see the harrowed furrow between his brows as Nanami reels his hips back n’ positions his largely flared tip between your legs. Right where he needs to be.
And then he push-pushes inside—
“Fuck-” He spits- strong hand darting out to grip the headboard. You hear it splinter—“Fuck.”
“Please…” Looking up, you’re letting out a soft gasp at the way the muscles on his arm bulge and make themselves clear next to you. The sheer strength. The sheer pressure. The sheer streeeetch between your legs that you’re being fed inch by solid inch.
It’s almost too much - so much more than you ever thought possible to take in one go. Your throat feels clogged with saliva and Nanami’s sheer size as his cockhead thoroughly pierces your channel.
Smearin’ your gluey walls to either side of him, he enters you slowly yet mercilessly. More and more.
Your head falls back against the plush pillow directly beneath you-
“Now now- stay with me, darling.” Nanami’s strict sentence was less of a command and more of a sweet willing for you to open your eyes once more—to let him see those pretty, heart-shaped peripherals as he fucked you long and sweet.
He was burrowed just about halfway in at this point and starting to thrust.
It didn’t matter if he wasn’t completely drenched in your sweetest caverns yet, as long as your thighs were quivering with the utmost pleasure.
And Nanami collapses his rock-hard, chiselled front on top of your body - almost crushing you under the weight of him. Though you admit that the pressure was one so pleasurable that it sends zaps of electricity shooting to your toes—oh, did you mention that he’d kept your heels on, still?
And right now he was hooking his right set of fingers underneath your thigh, pressing your capped knees all the way up to your tits.
You’re mooooaning at the burning stretch of your hamstrings.
And he’s letting you ease into it for a few more moments before throwing both legs over each side of his shoulders. Wet with perspiration, you’re letting your heeled feet slide down his hard muscles before finally managing to loop them around your neck.
“This is a mating press- yeah.” He whispers, “D’you like this, my wife?”
Nodding fervently.
Leaning down to lick off the salty-sweet tears that were streaming down your cheeks, “Good girl.” The nickname slips between Nanami’s pussydrunken mouth before he can stop himself. And when he feels the huggin’ entrance of your cunt grow even wetter at the sound of it…oh.
The tips of his digits damn-near tremble with excitement as the blond-haired man plucks a pillow from one of the many you were laying against. Fluffing it up. Promptly placing it underneath the base of your spine, just where that curve was supposed to start, and raising your hips just a little.
That change of angle made the thump-thump-thumping tip of his cock just slightly press against the roof of your cunt, and you whine. “Sh-shit…”
“D’you know what that’s for, my love?”
“Huh?” You respond hazily, and he gestures towards the pillow. Just so gone- on his cock, on the aphrodisiac, on the primal instincts on the verge of screaming at him to shove even deeper. “Um…”
Nanami leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “That’s alright. I’ll teach you later, my love. For now…”
For now, what was that you’d begged for earlier?
Ah…
For now, he was going to fuck you like a loving husband fucks his beloved, beloved wife.
And he was going to prove it to this pussy that he was your husband—is. There were no two ways of going about it- Nanami’s leaning his toned torso backwards and suddenly rammin’ into you with all his strength.
He doesn’t stop until he’s sure he can hear the damn thwack! of his mazin’ tip reaching for your deepest depths. The sensation of your cervix was just so smoooooth and spongy, and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that the notorious man had just bottomed out on your tight, tight pussy.
You’re keening at the way your folds can do nothing but quiver n’ take and take. Gulping down those greedy inches that he was funneling over and over again into you—the scruff of his tawny happy trail scrapes your sensitive pussylips and you buck-
“And don’t think that you can run away.” He was amused.
For every millimeter that you were arching off of the mattress due to oversensitivity, Nanami was making up for it with yet another two rugged slams of his hips. He just loved that surprised expression upon your face when you found yourself being dragged right back, being manhandled, with a mere tug of his trained physique.
One hand on the right side of your waist.
One hand bracing his gluttonous base.
He furrows his brows and tightens his jaw as he haaaaauls you right back down- and soon enough, you’re finding that perhaps - perhaps - you’re shifting yourself away just to have him do it all over again.
And he indulges you, of course. Spearing between your glossed-up pussylips from tip to bottom end.
Fat inches that were making themselves at home.
Eventually, Nanami’s hungry gaze pins you down- first. Before the rest of his Herculean sculptured body chooses to rest further on top of you n’ glue your skin, your hips, to his own—preventing you from moving just a centimeter further than he wanted you to. Preventing you from shifting his determined cock around. He’s practically melding your bodies into one—he almost wishes he could.
Before Nanami had finally scoured ‘round your insides and located your g-spot. And he couldn’t have you moving around when his entire mission was to make you numb with pleasure, could he?
The heat between you two crackles in the air, and Nanami fucks you slow and shallow with his flared red tip. Rovering over that one spot-
“O-oh my god, oh my god, Kento—” Words slurring into one. Nearly indiscernible.
And through your tears, you’re making out Nanami’s lips pursing into something gentle. “Shhhhh…” The breeze of his scorching pants waft over you, dialing your own body temperature up into something insatiable. Aphrodisiac or…no, just the two of you. “You’ve got this, my love- fuck, you’ve got this.”
“I…” Eyes scrunching shut. “N-never felt anything like this before, honey.”
“You can take it.”
“I am- I am-”
The way his thrusts were probin’ into you was just indescribable- though Nanami Kento might have been a gentleman to everyone that ever encountered him - and yes, you suppose that even included the targets for his missions - you were briefed and trained to see him as the complete opposite.
Unlike most, you knew Nanami Kento as the agent…the danger…the target for your own mission.
But his cock was drilling into you over and over in sharp, rapid thrusts and you’re thinking that perhaps you hadn’t been so correct about him after all…
Calculated thrusts.
Nanami was making sure that you were wringing out the maximum amount of pleasure from each one of them. Not wasting time between smooching the door to your womb—thud-thud-thud. And between reeling his hips all the way back until your cunt was wet and gaping around where the circumference of his tip was the fattest. The neediest. Red-hot.
And then he’d be sliiiiiiding one of his most prominent veins down the middle along the most tender of your nerves. Kissing it.
Making white-hot bliss burst through your body as he’s managing to hit eeeevery single fucking orifice that made you swoon. Those large arms of his cage you safely, and Nanami already knows by now that you’re drunk on his hips. “Feels good, yeah?” He asks you-
And you almost have the heart to respond with something feisty—well, obviously. But the sincerity in his eyes makes you prattle out, “Feels s-soooo good. Didn’t even know that it could feel this good…”
He smiles proudly, “Yeah? Oh yeah—” Patting your sensitive clit with his abdomen, “And how’s the- haaaaaah, fuuuck, keep squeezing me like that- How’s the speed, my love?”
“P-perfect…” Cockdrunken. Bed creaking.
But Nanami merely nods and licks at the walloping amounts of saliva pouring from one end of your mouth and onto the silken covers of the pillows. “Mhmmmmm…and what else? How’s the angle?”
Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. “The- angle—oh.” Just then, he’s adjusting his hips just the slightest few degrees so that his bludgeoning cock would hit a fresh new target tilted slightly upwards to the roof of your cut. And you’re practically yowling out, “That one- ngh, that’s the one.” Nails possessively claiming his back with countless scratches and indentations of your nails, “P-pleeeeease keep that one, Kento.”
“Like it that much, huh?” He hums to himself, “But of course, m’not gonna change it when s’my wife’s favorite.”
In a small thank-you, you’re craning your head up and attempting to kiss him.
He meets your lips halfway, but don’t think that that’s the only thing his vicious hips could do.
“Now now, don’t tap out…” Nanami grunts n’ shudders to himself—he has to gnaw down on the plushness of his bottom lip to compose himself at least somewhat. “And how about the feeling of my balls- hah- feel how biiiiiig and heavy they are, just for you?”
Struck and feeling his cadence accelerating, you can only nod and nod.
“Feel how rock-hard I am for you?”
Nodding.
“Feel the way I- fuck, the way m’only getting harder?”
Nodding.
“Feel the way your g-spot just throbs whenever I’m near?” His crowned and hungry tip pauses just to prove his point, and you’re dragging your nails down his biceps with a disappointed whine. A call to continue if there was any.
To which he does.
Harder than before- pap-pap-papping—! the front of his hips against yours.
“And feel the way m’pumping out so much- fuck- precum?” Just then - as if on fucking cue - you’re feeling a wet draaaaag of his pre being pushed deeper inside you. Pooling on layers on top of your cervix n’ swirling around every time you’re being moved, “Shit, m’gonna make a mess again. See what you do to me?”
“I do-”
Nanami scoffs, “You know I’d do anything to make you feel good, my love.” Boring those golden eyes into yours- yes, they looked damn golden in this lighting and in the hazy state of your mind. “Anything-”
One of his thick hands scrape down your front- they were the hands of someone that’s trained and worked and fought to get to where he is today. And you’re shivering at the slight callouses that massage you—
Your husband continues, “Never think that you’re- hah, any less loveable- desirable, because of anyone or anything before.” And despite the fact that you two were connected on levels, physical ones, that were the farthest they could go…it still feels the most intimate once he rests his clammy forehead onto yours and whispers. “Because I’m here- fuck.”
Toes curling atop his shoulders - doesn’t matter how much you’re thrashing them out of sheer pleasure at the stretch, he’s taking every bruise head-on. “Yes, yes, yes—mmm, yes…fuck, it shouldn’t feel this good- ngh, legally it shouldn’t feel this good.”
“When have we ever cared about the legal labels?”
Those pearly whites of his gnaw down on your lips n’ drag you into a kiss.
He utters, “Because your Kento’s here.”
Whimpering up at him when all the constant kissin’ at your g-spot almost gets too much to bear. So overstimulated. “A-and why do you say that, Kento?”
He could coo at the cute way you’re asking that question.
With your legs shakily squeezing around his neck, with your lips trembling and threatening to escape a sob. The way your cunt swallowed him up and dragged him to the very depths of your cunt was almost dizzying for him to feel—and he knows his balls were thwacking so hot and headily against the forefront of your cunt. He knows he’s close.
He knows the patterns of his zig-zagging veins were outlining themselves upon either side of your walls- he could feel it.
He knows that these were the pearly gates of heaven themselves. Opened right with your legs.
And Nanami has to force himself to not fucking throw his head back with a thunderous groan—more to hear your sweet, sweet noises than anything. And instead, he nuzzles his sweaty face into the crook of your neck and lets out looooow, trundling whispers. “You’re s-seriously asking me that, my love? Don’t mock me-”
“I’m not-”
“Because the answer should be obvious.” And this is the first and only time that the Nanami Kento would interrupt you on any matter. “S’because I’m fucking made for you, aren’t I?”
And with that being said, it seems his cadence is only growing faster. Harder. Hittin’ your lower half at what, to you, almost feels like the speed of light - his blushin’ tip only grows bigger and concrete-hard as he keeps jutting into the crevices of your cervix.
Running the lines of his veiny shaft down your channel all the while—
Soon enough: your pulsing clit finds home between Nanami’s thumb and index finger.
On his left hand.
Which meant the stark frigidness of his wedding ring was making your body thrust itself into the throes of pleasure - not quite cumming, though considering just how overstimulated you were, you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up shattering all over him without any warning. Instead, you’re finding your mouth babbling away whatever stupid concoction of words was entering your mind- “A-and how can you say that-”
“That’s because I’m your husband.” He kisses your forehead softly once more, “Forget all those other boys and whoever that came- hah, before me, darling. They’ve never yearned—ached, prayed for this pussy like I have…”
A disbelieving laugh bubbles up at your throat, “Y-yearned—? K-Kento, you can’t be serious.”
His dazed eyes widen, mouth stupidly agape. “Dead fucking serious.”
What’s the word to describe him…enamored? In…love? Pussy-whipped? But in all the best ways.
And he himself didn’t sound like he could compute the words that were falling from his mouth. Escaping, more like. He tut-tuts, “My wife…I fear I don’t even- haaaah, know who I am without this pussy. She’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few days. She’s all I’ve been…hungry for. She’s all I’ve been- fuck, needing to make myself run to the b-bathroom and jerk myself off until I see stars—”
“S-stars-” Repeating breathlessly to yourself. Such words from him of all people…especially when it pertained to you…you just couldn’t believe it.
“Making you feel good as your husband is my only goal, my love.” And he means it so earnestly- from anyone else you would have scoffed and rolled your eyes. But Nanami’s staring into your widely-blown peripherals as though he was exposing every shred and fissure in his soul.
He rolls his thumb over the nub of your clit.
Your voicebox raggedly wrenches out, “All this time you’ve…”
And fuck- he’s so far gone that he can’t hold back the fucking lewd grin as he admits—
“All this time-” Planting one chaste peck on your forehead while he fucks you, “-your husband has been-” Then another one on your right cheek, “-a damn pervert waiting for you to catch him.” In more ways than one. And then a final one on your left cheek.
He pulls away and admires you.
“And how does that make you feel, my wife?”
“It m-makes me feel…” Spit drivels from the leaky orifice of your mouth along with a few whining pleas here and there. And before Nanami’s lust-hazed brain can begin to compute it, you’re reaching outwards and grabbing ahold of yet another fistful of his hair.
Dragging him towards you with a persistent few tugs.
Surprise and arousal flash across his face and steep into his already-agonized expression once you pull him close enough.
You enunciate up at him, “It makes me feel like m’gonna cum, soon…” Eyes flapping shut, chest arching up into his firmly-toned one. You hiccup, “-my husband.”
His hips stutter sloppily.
But you weren’t done just yet—“A-and I know you’re close, too.” Gaze flickering down to the briefest flash of his bulbous, red tip as he pulls out- only to be shoved between your pussylips once more. Again and again. “I want you to not hold back, Kento. No matter how hard it is- ngh, don’t hold back on me.”
He repeats, breathlessly. “Don’t hold back…don’t…” Nodding and nodding.
And then you’re watching the line of his vision sharply stray to something above your head-
To the discarded fabric of his favorite tie.
And do you know how many times spies have been trained to get out of and create restraints? You don’t think it takes Nanami even two heartbeats to swipe the tie somewhere from the headboard and reach behind you to loop around your wrists.
Pinning them together.
Tying them blindly.
Tugging you to him with a flex of his muscles.
You’re being manhandled like so through a few slammin’ stripes down on the innermost layer of your pussy- he seemed to be reaching even deeper with this slight change in position.
“Please-” You can’t catch your breath fast enough—and the sheer sensation of Nanami throwin’ you around like a ragdoll whilst he fucked you like an absolute gentleman was enough to make you stutter out in just a few more moments- “P-please…Kento, m’gonna cum-”
Smack! The skin of his pelvis practically glues against yours. “Cum on your husband’s cock, my dear.”
And with the most sinful, squelching sound of your thighs tightening around his waist- you’re cumming. The fifth time tonight; it sears through every vessel in your body stronger and faster than you remember any previous orgasm being.
A buzzing electricity- turned zapping.
Curdling at the pit of your stomach and making you arch up into Nanami as many times as your limbs could weakly carry you…
Your heels claw ravaged marks down his shoulders, “C-cumming-” Babbling out as stars of pleasure formulate and burst behind your eyes, “Kento—fuck. Fuck, Kento, it feels so good—”
“Fuck.” He grunts himself.
Entire body shaking as the wave of euphoria roars over you.
Flashing and overstimulated.
Then you’re peering up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Kento, I want you to cum, too-”
And that’s when it hits him.
Almost as if his body had been waiting for permission from you this entire time, as though he’d react to you above anything or anyone else. Orders. Though they were ones that his brain would gladly follow- Nanami throws his head back just a little and stammers his hips.
The round curve of his tip plasterin’ against your sweet, spongy cervix and holding there for a few seconds—before he, too, ends up giving into his pleasure.
Making you cum five times and this was the first time he’s cumming inside.
Brows knitting, his strong jaw drops ever-so-slightly ajar as he feels a sensation like never before. No matter how much of his creamy white cum he’s emptying out- your cushy walls were sucking him up for more, more, more…“Sh-shit—you don’t know what you do to me.” And with that said, he’s raising his knee up and setting it where the pillow underneath your hips was, “I think you a-already know what this pillow is for, hm?”
Nodding, “I do I do-” You could’ve guessed either way.
Especially by the way the spurs of his cum were barreling inside- being fucked deep inside. Deep inside. And because of the positioning of your hips, no matter how much you jostle or buck, his hot wads remain webbin’ up every orifice inside.
Glued to your cervix like adhesive.
The pillow only helped if you wanted to…expand the family.
Another toe-curling burst of pleasure runs through him at the mere thought of it, and Nanami turns his head to kiss the pretty side of your calf. Legs still limply wrapped around his head.
He hums, “And does this go against your mission, my assassin?”
You’re shaking your head.
Quite frankly, the only other thing you can think to do is to tug him closer with your lower half.
Nanami’s shaft was thick and throbbing—burnished red at the top and polished with so many layers of cum. Hot puddles of it. He was making sure not to waste a single - not even a single - drop of it as he emptied out inside, though the sheer force of his thrusts did end up frothing some of his powdery-white cum between your trembling legs. So full that you were leaking from your hole.
He spits down on your stuffed pussy, fingers twiddling on your clit. “Then how about trying to kill me by milking me dry next?”
His heavy balls clench.
Your jaw drops.
And it really wasn’t just the aphrodisiac.
You are the one that won’t be making it out of this alive.
.
.
.
“—no…no, it’s not for a lack of resources. No- no one’s threatening me.” Speaking sharply into the receiver of the payphone, the crackle of your elders echoes in your ears. You’re sure that you’re sending the Garden headquarters into an uproar by this point—you’re sure that everyone’s gotten the word.
The Phantom is quitting her line of work.
And though you suppose it wasn’t necessarily against policy to finally quit being an assassin, you just don’t think anyone would have bet that you’d be the next.
And in the booth next to you was Nanami Kento, on the phone with his own higher-ups.
You’re eyeing the handsome man through the translucent screen of plastic in-between, and he’s catching your eyes and shooting you a reassuring smile. He seemed to be having a much easier time with whoever was on his end, meanwhile you…Scoffing at the next accusation they throw out, “No, I’m not drugged or coerced or going to trade secrets with anyone-”
Another higher-up bellows something.
“Look, I’m going to post you my resignation letter and that is that. I just wanted to tell you all personally- think of it as my last duty to you.” And with a sigh you’re beginning to push away from the receiver, “Don’t contact me again, kindly. Or you can—send assassins after me for all you care, we both know how that’s going to go down.”
The phone gets sternly put back in its place.
And you know that they won’t try to mess with you.
You know that.
They didn’t call you The Phantom for nothing - your presence still haunted the Garden when you weren’t there. As you’re making your way out of the booth, you’re realizing that your husband had wrapped up his call and was waiting for you outside.
Hands in his coat pockets. Fingers inching automatically towards yours once you’re outside.
He’d been nagging at you on getting a warmer covering layer recently, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate to shrug off his own jacket and insist upon you wearing it. Though he wasn’t a very loud man, his affection was practically palpable.
And you’re almost feeling shy walking down the street in what was obviously his coat, whilst he stuffed your joined hands into the pocket of your coat - one that he was now wearing.
Eventually, you ask. “I assume your call went well, Kento?”
He sighs something half-fond, “Yeah…” And though it was true that both of you had been wanting out from these careers for some time now, it was still a wistful affair.
It was just last week that Nanami had filed in his report on the Zenin family; revealing some corrupt ties and nonsensical numbers in their business that’d been blown across every news station, magazine, and forum you could think of in the past few days. Zenin Naobito had been arrested, of course, transferring the title of heir to none other than Fushiguro Megumi, your son’s best friend. And though the two of you weren’t working for your organizations anymore, you’d both promised to keep a firm eye on the boy to make sure that he wasn’t being pressured or made to live older than his age anytime soon.
You’re squeezing Nanami’s hand softly, and he looks at you with a smile. Continuing where he’d left off, “They were hesitant, but I think they understood. I think they saw - even before I did - that this was a long time coming.”
“They let you go that easily?”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, “I’m free.”
And you’re doing the same.
You’re both free.
Once you’re opening your eyes, it’s to look at the other side of Shibuya Crossing - where Itadori and his two familiar best friends were standing and waving at the two of you. Furiously. They laughed and bickered about who was waving the hardest. “So romantic—!” You think you hear Kugisaki squeal even from here.
You chuckle as you wait for the light to turn green.
Looking up at the blue, blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
A/N. No idea how this got so long erm- also Happy Avurudu to anyone that celebrates!!
You're a clumsy, messy, pushing thirty single woman who always gets herself tangled with weird men. There's always a bottle of wine in your fridge and a pack of cigarett– damn it, you were supposed to quit! So how is it possible that still, somehow, you have two of the most successful men in a country completely enamoured by you?
pairings: Nanami Kento x Reader (x Gojo Satoru)
content/warnings: Bridget Jones AU, fluff and eventual smut, mainly fluff tho, Nanami is sooo Mark Darcy coded, mini series, all of them are around thirties/in thirties, Gojo is a playboy, romcom vibes
a/n: here we're going back to the movie accuracy, although I changed some dialogues of course :)
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─── 003. Dear diary, this fuckass lawyer stood me up! ୨ৎ
"You must be joking," Satoru tried to joke, rumpling between his fingers a white sheet of paper.
With big, fancy, almost medieval-like manuscript letters. The first "R" bended in reddish circles, swirling like the dragon's tale, and the rest –"esignation letter" – written quickly on your thigh in overcrowded metro. You didn't have time to make it fancy too, and from what you had seen, medieval manuscripts usually bolded out only the first letter.
Anyways.
You also had the standard, boring, printed copy, but the decision to change the jobs was too important not to make it fancy.
"Sugar, I'm not accepting it," Satoru sighed, sliding the document away on his desk.
You sat right in front of him on a plush chair – professional, straightened up, with a coffee stain on a white (very professional!) shirt, looking like a high-schooler being scolded by a headmaster. You groaned, taking the other (less funny) letter from the bag and sliding it towards Satoru again. He didn't even look at it before crumbling with one hand and throwing to the trash can.
"Hey!" came louder than you thought, bringing the attention of few people in the office. "Now you need to accept the medieval one."
"No, sugar, it doesn't matter which one it is – I'm not accepting your resignation letter. At all."
"You cannot not accept it. It's against the HR rules," you scoffed. "And I found a new job, starting on Monday."
"Well," Satoru stood up from his leather chair and rounded the desk, before sitting down at its edge, right in front of you. Hands in pockets of loose trousers, glass-covered eyes looking down at your stupidly scrubbed-up figure. "I don't fucking care about HR, you're not resigning. And you should give at least six months notice."
"You can talk about it with my lawyer," you mumbled, standing up slowly.
Big hand rested on your shoulder before he pushed you back on the chair.
If it wasn't a job-resignation meeting, you would probably think about the way Satoru's forearm bulged with muscles the moment he pushed you back down.
But you didn't think of it, as you were currently a very, very busy and professional woman.
"Your lawyer? Why the fuck would I talk with your lawyer, sugar?" He tsked, seemingly quite irritated with your decision. "Listen, if this is about that Friday–"
You scoffed, throwing his hand off your shoulder. "It's not. I need to change something in my life."
"And this change is getting rid of me and your well-paid job?"
Well, he wasn't wrong. You did want to change jobs for a while, with a push-and-pull relationship with him being one of the many reasons. Another one was a too-long commute and a clear waste of your gossiping talents, which could be used in a much more mouthy-friendly environment.
Satoru looked rather crushed, with arms crossed on a wide chest and furrowed forehead, as if trying to think of ways to change your mind. But there was truly nothing that could do it, because Satoru was nothing more than a fling and a playboy, who at the age of thirty still much preferred chasing skirts to finding himself a proper woman. In his age.
Your feet moved, wanting to stand up, but he quickly stopped you. Warm hands wrapped around yours as he placed them on his chest.
"I..." he started, looking almost maddened. Like Heathcliff, after digging up Catherine's body and hugging it yearningly (yes, you've finally read the book). "I need to tell you something, sugar. And it's going to cost me a lot of courage to do it, so please listen to me."
You looked around, seeing that the glass walls of his office were now ogled by curious glances of your coworkers.
"What are you doing?" came out in a whisper, while you tried to keep a polite smile.
"It may be too sudden, but..." he sighed, lifting up your hand and pushing it against his trembling lips.
Oh, for fucks sake, he should go into acting with such perfectly polished dickhead moves. Because you knew where those teary eyes and fakely concerned gaze were going to.
"Satoru, I swear to God, if you plan to say–"
"I love you, sugar," of course. "I know you can think I'm nothing but a rake, but... I'm just a hurt and lost man. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. You know, my parents never–"
You gasped, with rage filling your whole body from the pads of fingers up to hair roots. "Did you just quote a fucking Mr Darcy?"
He smiled. "You like Pride and Prejudice, right?"
You couldn't listen to it anymore. To the fable sold by hundreds of thousands of men to their girlfriends, after they cheated on them with a blonde hairdresser from next door, because they felt lost.
The "I am the problem, not you" thingy mixed with "If you gave me a bit more attention, I would need to sink my cock into someone else's cunt" cries, you've heard multiple times from your previous arse boyfriends.
Satoru wasn't even your boyfriend, and yet – you couldn't help yourself from scoffing and smacking his hand off.
"I'd slap you, but you could enjoy it too much," you murmured, finally standing up.
His I'm-too-broke-to-pay-child support demeanour quickly flattened, and a sly grin once again lifted up his lips. "Didn't work? It usually does. I would go down on my knees, but the environment is rather unfriendly, don't you think?" When you didn't laugh, he once again tried to recall a serious face. "Listen, I'm really sorry. But I really do like you and–"
Before he could finish, a quiet knock filled his office, and a young secretary shyly walked in.
"Mr Gojo?" she said, glancing at the small distance between you two with a furrow. "The model you wanted to invite for dinner said that–" she quickly shut up, seeing his widening eyes and your slowly falling mouth.
He whispered something, with lips curving in shut up or maybe not now please, but she still stood there like a dumb lamb.
You looked at him, at her, then back at him and back at her, as if trying to comprehend what she was just trying to say.
Oh, this bloody wanker!
"Ah, ah!" Satoru cracked an awkward laugh, waving a hand. He tried to ignore your raised eyebrows and a little shake of the head. "Darling, what model? I'm sorry, but I'm in the middle of an important talk. Could you please come later?"
Young secretary bit down on lower lip, feeling even more awkward. "But, Mr Gojo, you told me to invite the model from the publishers' party and reserve a hotel, isn't that right? I–"
"Okay, I'm done," you murmured, placing the sheet of medieval-scripted resignation letter on his desk.
Prying eyes of coworkers glanced your way with gasps, following Satoru's scoff and his secretary's sweating forehead. Poor girl thought she was at fault!
You squeezed between her and the doors, adding a little note about how inappropriately low her neckline was, to which she reacted with a flush, before going towards the elevator.
Satoru buried face in his hands and took a deep sigh. "Fuck, wait!"
Long legs quickly caught up while you were waiting for the elevator to finally come up. Out of all the days, why must it have been late today?
Your finger pushed the creamy button with a desperate click, but Satoru was already there. Tall and pathetic, with an actual glimmer of misery coiling behind the rimless glasses.
"Listen, you were one of my best workers, and I really think that finishing our cooperation on a bad note is not appropriate. I promise to be on my best behaviour, but please, reconsider this," he rambled. "If you feel overlooked, I think we can change a few things, right? This job has many good prospects for someone like... you."
The elevator arrived and opened with a gentle sound of a bell. You stepped inside before turning towards him. He stood in place, with a foot tapping nervously on the office's ugly carpet, and lower lip dragged between his teeth.
Other coworkers glanced at you secretly, as if watching the forbidden love story of a princess and her peasant boy. Are you going to betray yourself and run away to die of bubonic plague at the age of thirty, or choose to marry a cold prince, but live for at least two years longer (depending on how often you would shower)?
"Well, thank you, my dear. That's quite good to know that I was such an important employee for whatever the fuck you were doing here. But frankly speaking, if working here would mean staring at your face for eight hours a day, I would rather be hired to whip Donald Trump's ass."
He furrowed. "I think you meant wipe…"
Ugh, bastard!
And when the metal doors closed, you took a deep breath.
After all these years, you were finally free of your wanker boss!
୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ
Your new job was... something.
Firstly, getting inside the TV studio was not that easy, even with a signed contract shown to guards and multiple attempts to convince them that yes, you are working here, yes it is your first day, no you still don't have a pass.
You were twenty minutes late on your first day and everything because of some stupid plastic pass, which seemingly needed to be used to each and every room in this place.
Including the bathroom.
Working as a presenter on popular telly wasn't something you could imagine yourself in, but apparently, directors were charmed by your humour and intelligence during the recruitment (they cared about the latest gossip on the British Monarchy more than about the Middle East, as it seemed).
Soon started to love your boss and a team made of twenty-something-year-old people, who threw daggers at you for always pushing the best ideas out there. Working in media meant being pushed towards the older section of your coworkers, always hanging out with a forty-something boss and the HR secretaries. Youngsters from your team saw you as an experienced, unavailable, older woman, although you still had at least half a year to thirty birthday and were closer in age to them than the rest of the team.
The job itself was fun, always full of surprises, with you and the cameraman walking around the town and fulfilling the stupidest wishes of your boss. He was an eccentric, with too many ideas and not enough time, seeing you like a golden goose who was always up and ready to present the most foolish concepts of his.
"Come on, people, let's do the brainstorm," he would say during the Monday meetings, with all the team trying to come up with the program for the next week. "I'm thinking, why are lanky men attractive to goths? I'm thinking, young people having sex in cemeteries. I'm thinking, what are the secrets of playboys?"
Oh, the last one would be a perfect case if you could only interview Gojo Satoru. And you probably could but wouldn't do it, considering that your farewell wasn't the nicest one and happened mainly because of his playboy tendencies.
"Maybe we can talk about why women are attracted to firefighters?" you offered casually, but your boss quickly turned your way.
"Are they?" he asked, glancing at each and every woman sitting in the room.
All of them nodded, as if surprised by the question alone.
"Of course, who isn't?" one girl murmured, chewing on her pen.
"It's like a strip show, but for women," someone else added, and you wanted to say that there is an actual strip show for women called Magic Mike (you still couldn't get those damn tickets), but decided to shut up.
It was one of the few chances to bond with your younger coworkers, and you just couldn't miss it.
Your boss clasped, with a leery smile crossing his face. "Amazing, brilliant, spectacular! Does anyone know any hot firefighters?"
There was a long pause, with a few shaking heads.
"Um," you coughed, raising up a hand. "Actually, I know."
And when a wave of jealous groans rolled through the room, you knew that bonding had just ended.
So that's how it was going. Back and forth, between the studio and the streets – doing interviews, sliding down the firefighter's pool, and accidentally hitting a cameraman with your ass, trying to talk to young drug addicts and not getting jabbed by a dirty needle. That was your job.
Anyways, the work itself was going great, although you couldn't say the same thing about the love life. Thank god your mother was always on the tip of her toes, trying to play a matchmaker and push you towards the–
"Nanami Kento invites you to his parents' ruby wedding," she chirped, calling your line on Sunday morning.
You groaned, trying to dig out the not-yet-dried buggers from your eyes. "Good morning to you, too, Mom. Although I didn't get any message about the invitation."
"Yeah, well, his mother has told me to tell you that he wants you to accompany him," liar. "I've heard you met him a while ago? During a party? How was it?"
You yawned, turning on the other side and closing your eyes for another few minutes. It was 8 a.m. on Sunday, for Christ's sake!
"Great, we talked. That's it," I also barfed on his slacks and forced him to haul me up those fuckass stairs, but you didn't mention it. Wasn't that crucial.
Your mother sighed on the other side, covering a microphone (you were surprised she knew where it was and didn't accidentally hang up), to say something to your father. A few whispers were exchanged before her chirping once again hit your ear.
"That's wonderful, darling. He's such a charming man, I told you. More than happy to have your company during the wedding–"
"I'm not going," you mumbled, trying to close eyes for at least another five minutes.
The air creeping between the loose window seals was biting cold, making you curl under the downy bedding like a baby.
"Come on, darling, let's not start," she reprimanded, as if you were thirteen again. "He's really happy to see you again, and the party should be amazing. Come and have fun," before you could refuse once again, she quickly added. "Well, I need to go, but text Kento that you would love to join him."
And then she hung up.
Ugh, this woman!
It took you a while, however, to muster up a courage and reply to Kento's invitation.
Firstly – because you weren't sure whether he really invited you or it was just your mother's matchmaking attempt to force you to text him.
Secondly – the barf thing was still vivid.
Thirdly – there was no reason for you to go, as you weren't anyone important for either him or his parents.
Fourthly – the wedding was on Saturday, so you would have to miss the new episodes of the Endless Love and Love in the Air, which were a thousand-episode Turkish melodramas you've watched with an older neighbour in flat five.
A groan slipped in when you opened the messages, with his nickname displayed ominously on the upper strip. Your mother has sent you his number after the unfortunate New Year's meeting, so since then he's been saved as an Arse 2. Arse 1 was reserved for Satoru.
I regret to inform you....
Dear Kento, unfortunately I...
Devastated as I am, I sincerely apologize for...
There aren't words that can describe the distress this miss feels upon being unable to accept Mr Kento's invitation...
It wasn't the eighteenth century anymore, so you deleted the message and threw the phone on the night table.
Thoughts of that night started to flood your mind again, reminding you of Kento's furrowed brows and his deep sigh. Hazelnut eyes were glued to the vomit on his slacks – which by the way also left a huge stain on your carpet – as if looking at them long enough could force them to disappear. You remember murmuring some apologies, but the champagne made your head spin and knock you out right away.
It was an utterly embarrassing, shameful, absolutely mortifying experience, stripping you of any chance for the future shag with Nanami Kento (not that you wanted... really).
You took the phone, once again opening the messages.
Mr Kento, thanks for the invitation, it is with great pleasure that I shall accept...
Oh for christ's sake.
Hi Kento, thank you for the invitation! I would love to join you at your parent's rubby wedding :)
Hm, not bad.
As long as he'll interpret the smiley as a symbol of actual joy rather than an ominous sign (that was its second meaning, according to your young coworkers).
୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ
Two weeks later, after the oh so bombastic set of work events, related to you getting embarrassed twice on national TV, but also earning "the funniest presenter" award – according to some gossip magazine – one of the most horrendous evenings of your life has finally started.
At 4 p.m. sharp, with you and your parents arriving at Nanami's ruby wedding and coming inside the heavily decorated villa.
It was still quite cold outside, so all the guests gathered in the living room, which was at least twice the size of your attic apartment. The gentle gleam of lights and candles bathed it in warmth, and you noticed Kento right away. Near the fireplace, wearing another three-piece, but this time in deep, ocean blue, with an ugly, yellow tie hanging between the muscular pecks (oh, it must've been ovulation talking).
He didn't reply to your message for two weeks straight, and now hazelnut eyes dared to glance your way with a furrow, as if he truly didn't expect you to be here.
You were all greeted by the serving staff, offering a glass of champagne and piles of little snacks, with your favourite small sandwiches lying on a tray. The guests looked like taken from a tsar's era ballroom, with furs and glimmer and heavy dresses brushing the deep red carpet of Kento's home.
Everything was beautiful, mesmerising. Leaving you and your father with open mouths, as you both shyly hid in the corner, trying to avoid the awkward small talk.
"A bit showy, isn't it?" he murmured, sipping slowly on a champagne.
You nodded, trying everything in your mighty power to not look towards the Kento and a pretty brunette he was talking to.
Bubbles trickled down your throat, eyes narrowed, seeing the woman's hand squeezing his biceps gently, before the living room was filled with her sweet laughter.
Oh, for Christ's sake, of course she had one of the most beautiful laughs you've ever heard!
Kento, however, stood as stony as always, with tightly drawn eyebrows and a flat smile. He didn't seem uncomfortable, but also not quite relaxed, looking at her in a rather casual, maybe even bored manner, with warm eyes darting every few seconds towards... oh.
"The salmon sandwich is rather good, you should try it," your father mumbled, munching on his fourth one. "They must've spent a fortune on a salmon of this quality, I tell ya!"
You turned his way with flushed cheeks, trying to hide them from Kento's prying eyes. "Dad, what are you talking about? You hate salmon."
"No darling, I hate when I need to buy it. Have you seen the recent prices? Dearest!"
You stood in the corner for a while, munching, chatting and guessing which lady had real fur and which not, doing a mental ranking of all the guests that had arrived for the celebration.
Kento was trying to amuse them all, greeting, talking, laughing (sounded rather fake), but seemingly looking rather tired. You could only guess that organising the whole party drained his soul.
After half an hour of standing in the corner, your mother has finally graced you both with her presence, throwing daggers and your wet fingers trying to dig an olive from the bottom of the martini.
"Why aren’t you talking to Kento, dearest?" rolled in anger, before she turned towards your father. "And you! Stuffing yourself full rather than trying to find a husband for your loser daughter!" Ouch. "Go to him right this second," she smacked your shoulder, before pushing you towards the man.
But you couldn’t do it. Not like that, with all the people staring at your face and wet fingers gripping the green olive.
The music played quietly in the background, shushing your mother’s voice enough to not let everyone know that you were an almost thirty-year-old walking tragedy, scaring each and every male within a ten-meter radius.
You excused yourself to your mother and walked out of the living room under the pretext of finding the loo. But instead, you quickly turned towards the garden and went outside, plopping down on the wooden bench hidden between the… for fuck’s sake, is that a Christmas tree?
"It is," a deep voice rolled through the air, before someone sat right next to you.
Someone, meaning none else than Kento.
His thigh brushed yours, and the heavy smell of cologne coiled your senses with a warm fragrance of the fireplace and wood. He smelled like those wooden cottages hidden deeply in the woods, where rich people liked to go on short trips. The expensive ones, with a week costing a third of your salary.
You sat in silence for a while, with him staring somewhere beyond the tall trees and you chewing on the inside of your cheek.
"Listen–"
"You know–"
Both of you started, but he quickly gestured your way. "You first."
"Thank you. I, well, I wanted to thank you for the invitation and also apologise for the previous night," you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers. "I might've drunk too much."
He snorted, leaning his arm on the bench's back. "I didn't invite you, my mother did."
Oh...
Oh!
So, so embarrassing!
Of course, he didn't invite you. Why would he? A girl who not only always made herself a fool, but also ruined a precious, blooming feeling that sprouted between you two on that–
"But I'm happy you're here. Didn't expect you to actually come," he quickly added, looking at the changing expressions on your face. A deathly pale, slowly changing into a flush, then whiteness again, as if you went through a thousand different emotions during the last five seconds.
"You are?" came out almost whispered, with your eyes darting his way shyly. "But what do you mean, didn't expect? I texted you."
Hazelnut eyes creased in confusion, and blonde hair tilted on the side. "I'm quite sure you didn't."
Hm?
"No, I did. Sent you a message two weeks ago, but you didn't reply."
Kento looked genuinely confused, quickly taking out his phone and sliding a long finger through the messages. "No darling, you didn't. I don't have anything."
He must be joking!
You also pulled the phone out, going frantically through the messages, and–
Oh well.
You, in fact, did not send the message, seeing the written text still sitting warmly as a draft.
Bugger!
You coughed awkwardly, hiding the phone back in your pocket and looking back at Kento.
"Well?" he asked, not even trying to hide the mischievous smile. "What happened to the message?"
A soft tsk slipped through, with another wave of flush washing over your cheeks. "Nothing. It's still there."
"There?"
"Yes, in my phone. I'll send it after the party, pretending that you were the one who invited me. Like a true gentleman and not mama's boy."
Kento smiled even wider, with a laugh bubbling in his throat.
Why, suddenly, it was so easy to make him laugh? Did he hit his head or something?
"I wanted to text you, but don't have your number," he stated, once again taking his phone out. "Maybe–"
You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his pathetic attempt to wangle out your number. "If you wanted to invite me, should ask your mother."
Kento didn't get discouraged, with a phone still gripped between his fingers and screen glimmering with an "add new contact".
"I preferred to ask you in person – like a gentleman."
"You could do it weeks ago."
"I wanted to, but you were dead drunk, and I'd rather focus on keeping you in a recovery position so you wouldn't choke on your vomit."
You groaned, hiding your face between hands.
Oh god, it couldn't get worse!
"I'm so sorry," you muttered, not daring to look at him. "Please just, leave me. Let me freeze to death here. Why do I always have to make a fool of myself!"
He didn't say anything, but soon something warm covered your shoulders and a heavy hand landed on your back. It circled small waves on a frozen skin, as if trying to boost your blood circulation. When you glanced up, you noticed a lack of a dark blue jacket that was previously sitting tightly around his back. A smell of fireplace hit your nose even harder, with a big material wrapping you like a baby.
"You're not a fool. Well, you are a bit bizarre, I must say, but..." he stopped, looking down at your embarrassed face with warmth. "I quite like you."
Oh.
Something sudden, intense, bloomed inside your chest, spreading all over the body. A spark, a flame... a parasite? Maybe you've eaten too much of those salmon sandwiches.
"You like me?" popped out in disbelief. "In like a dating kind of way?"
"Yes, darling. Like dating kind of way. Like me asking you on a date way, meeting tomorrow at six p.m. way, wearing a suit–"
"When you say it too often, it's not funny anymore," you mumbled, and he only laughed. "But tomorrow is Sunday."
His warm hand still circled your back, and the woody scent made your head spin.
In a good way. The kinda orgasmic way. The foreplay way.
"Adults can't go on Sunday dates?" his head tilted.
"It's not that, but... after Sunday is Monday," you said, and he nodded, as if truly trying to understand where you were going. "So Sunday is basically an introduction to Monday. You know, the worst day of the week. On Sunday, you cannot do anything but contemplate how horrible Monday will be and prepare yourself for the worst," he looked as if already regretting the invitation. "What I mean is, you cannot enjoy Sunday–"
"I'll be there at six," he interrupted warmly, tucking the lost strand of hair behind your ear. "I'll try to fix your weird habit of not being able to enjoy Sundays."
And then he went back inside, leaving you with his sexy-smelling jacket and sharp pang in heart.
୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ
So the next day, you were in a complete panic.
Nanami Kento was coming over to pick you up in half an hour, but your hair was still a mess, and half of the wardrobe was lying on the bedroom carpet. You planned to wear jeans, but he mentioned something about a suit (who the fuck wears a suit for a first date!), so jeans turned out to be a big no-no.
It must've been something posh, but your only posh dress was nicely folded in a dirty laundry basket, and it smelled too horrendously to wear it again (you've checked).
At five thirty, you finally decided to go with a simple, long skirt and a turtleneck. It was giving an Oxford smartie, with slightly curled hair and brownish tights, ending with elegant, leather shoes.
It was sexy but casual. Smart and cute. Not quite posh, but pushing you towards the mysterious librarian.
At five forty you had an everything shower (just in case), and it took much longer than you expected.
Oh no, it was already five fifty-five! And your hair was still wet!
You very much hoped that Kento would be late, as you didn't want him to see you in a disgraceful outfit made of a towel and wet hair.
At six, your hairdryer was still on a full blow, tossing your hair in little tangles.
Thank god he still wasn't here.
At six ten, your hair and make-up were quite well done, but the brownish tights got ripped when you pulled them too quickly. Oh well, the long skirt would need to do its job.
At six twenty, you stood ready and perfumed, with a black leather bag gripped in one hand and a phone in another. Weird, he was late, but you didn't get any message.
But then you remembered that yesterday you had quite forgotten to give him your number. For Christ's sake, he wooed you with those warm eyes and handsome face, before you could even put your number in.
Six thirty – still not here, although you went downstairs twice.
Six forty – you opened the diary with fury, almost ripping the pages out.
Six fifty – one last chance, before you'll slander his soul and decide to curse for eternity.
Seven p.m.
Pen touched the yellow paper.
I hate, hate, HATE, this fuckass lawyer! No wonder his beautiful wife left him! Asshole, bastard, a fuckwit! And he did it on SUNDAY ! ! !
Hihi, hope you liked it! The next chapter will be the last and yes, we'll get a bit of a smut!
unfortunately that also meant he had missed his wife’s nightly yap session in which you talked his ear off about everything but also nothing — mundanity that nanami insisted was a necessary part of his day.
so instead what welcomed him that day after a late shower was his adorable, sleepy love of his life, five blinks away from slumber as you patted the empty spot beside you, rushing the blond to lie down.
nanami heart swelled two times bigger, the exhaustment that had seeped deep within his bones slowly melted away as he embraced you, filling his entire body with warmth that he knew only you could provide.
“hi there,” he greeted softly, kissing the side of your temple. you hummed a response, the steady beat of his heart lulled you deeper into a dazed state, barely hanging on to your conciousness. “how was your day?” he whispered, couldn’t help but wanting to be in your presence a minute longer. the man had an entirely wrong idea if he thought the comforting low rumble of his voice helped you be awake at all.
“‘s good,” you mumbled through his shirt, the scent of his freshly laundered shirt made you sniff deeper, giddy in having him so close. then you felt his hand rubbed your side, his thumb rubbed a spot just under the curve of your chest.
unexpectedly, nanami started to sprinkle little kisses across your shoulder blade. you let out a low chuckle as his breath ghosted the side of your neck. “stay up a little more for me? missed your voice,” he breathed, resting his head there.
you tried to open your eyes once and stared at him, as he flashed the sweetest smile. “there’s my pretty wife.”
“your flirting won’t get me any less sleepy, silly man.”
“worth a try, don’t you think?” he relented easily, fully under the impression that he will never force you to sacrifice your rest for his selfish deed.
you did not even realize that your eyelids had closed themselves, nanami’s voice sounded like as though you were underwater. and the last thing you registered as he felt like audibly further was a kiss to your nose.
nanami narrowed his eyes affectionately, chuckling to himself as he held his entire world. “sleep tight, love. but you still owe me a talk about how your day went, okay?” he said, to no one particulary as you’re already off to the dreamland.
but it was a small matter, he’ll remind you again tomorrow. and the day after that too.
i think nanami is used to being pretty quiet in bed. he doesn’t want to sound like a caveman when he’s blowing your back out, you know?
but when he starts dating you… well, you have a voice kink, and quiet just won’t work for you.
you breathe his name in his ear, you beg for more when he pulls back, you cry out with your head thrown back when he makes you cum. and his ears blush pinker at the tips the louder you are.
one night, when he’s been gone for a mission for nearly a week and came back and literally fell to his knees for you, his hands gripping your thighs as he stinks inside, you don’t even realize you’re moaning as he stretches you out.
“shh, baby,” he whispers, his breath hitching as you clench around him. “don’t wanna wake the neighbors.”
“s-sorry,” you whisper back breathlessly. “j-just— feels so good— don’t i make you feel good ken?”
he lets out a little chuckle, tucking his head in the crook of your neck as he starts slowly thrusting, pausing at the end so the tip of his thick cock can grind against your g-spot before he pulls back again. “of course you do, sweetheart. isn’t it obvious?”
you pout a little, though the expression is interrupted twice as your lips drop open in pleasure. “no it — nghh — it’s not. you don’t even moan when you’re inside me.” and despite the playful tone, there’s a slight edge of true hurt and insecurity.
he pulls back to look at you, hazel eyes searching your face and watching your expression start to crumple as pleasure starts to burn hotter inside you. “you really think i don’t enjoy this?”
“n-no, but—“
he cuts you off, leaning in until his lips are pressed right against your ear. the low sound of his voice, his breath on your back, his body on top of yours as he continues fucking you; it all makes you gasp, arching up into him. “you need me to make noise? need me to tell you how much i love this pussy, hm? how good it feels when you grip me —haa — that tightly?”
and for the very first time, nanami lets his moans fall from his lips right in your ear.
it’s insanely erotic, his voice only meant for you as he spills all the dirty thoughts he had of you while he was gone. how he couldn’t wait to stuff you full. how he’s going to wake you with his mouth in the morning just to have the taste on his tongue.
and as his pleasure crests like a wave, his voice pitches to a low rasp, his moans gravelly, almost pained as he fights off his impending orgasm.
“this cock is yours, baby,” he pants in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. “you’ve earned it.”
you stare up at him in awe, and when he cums, his voice, breathless with pleasure as he moans sends you over the edge as well.
a/n: if he moaned in my ear i would not rest until i merged with him like a symbiote. like he would never escape me.
You're a clumsy, messy, pushing thirty single woman who always gets herself tangled with weird men. There's always a bottle of wine in your fridge and a pack of cigarett– damn it, you were supposed to quit! So how is it possible that still, somehow, you have two of the most successful men in a country completely enamoured by you?
pairings: Nanami Kento x Reader (x Gojo Satoru)
content/warnings: Bridget Jones AU, fluff and eventual smut, mainly fluff tho, Nanami is sooo Mark Darcy coded, mini series, oral (fem. rec.), p in v, all of them are around thirties/in thirties, Gojo is a playboy, romcom vibes
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─── 001. Dear diary, my boss is so hot! ୨ৎ
If there was one thing you couldn't stand – aside from multiple other stuff, like buying olive oil and detergents on the same day or trying one of these heatless curl methods only to wake up with a rampant mess in the morning – was this New Year's tradition your family held.
No, not the meeting itself, but the yearly custom of trying to match you with another single son, your mother's friend brought with her. Sometimes they were already divorced, sometimes on the edge of it. Sometimes, just like you, they didn't have luck in love, and it somehow made your mother think they posed a good marital part.
"You remember Nanami Kento, right?"
It was the first thing you've heard from your mother after she opened the door.
"Happy New Year to you too, mom," you babbled, giving her a quick hug.
The home already smelled like roasted meat and a pie, with a few relatives welcoming you in the hall. You wore one of those horrible Christmas sweaters that had you needlessly sweaty, making your cheeks and neck flush as if in a fever.
"You know, me and his mother are very, very good friends. As a child, you used to run naked around their garden," she hooked you under an arm, following straight to the living room.
"Yes mom, I know. I know who Nanami Kento is–"
"A very famous lawyer, dear. And divorced! Just this year."
Of course.
The house was already filled with your relatives and your parents' friends, who, in fact, were more like a family. Your father caught you on your way to the new date mother has planned for you, kissing your cheeks sweetly and wishing good luck. Auntie and uncle stopped with greetings, mentioning that the Nanami family is here together with their son and also that you've gained a bit of weight, didn't you, dear?
Actually, I've lost it, but thanks, almost slipped away, but instead you smiled politely and admitted that her Christmas cheesecake was quite good last year. You ignored the tarty I can quite see, dear, and let yourself get led towards the Nanami family. A glass of wine and a cigarette somehow found their way to your hands, as you were of a weak nature and while talking to any man needed to be either drunk or not in your right mind.
Usually both.
"Mom–"
I'm quite happy as I am, wanted to roll through, but she already tapped the tall man, standing with his back towards the two of you.
He turned, and only then did you notice that he was wearing the exact same sweater as yours, just in a different colour. With the same crookedly hafted reindeer and a few whitish balls that were supposed to resemble Christmas lights. Instead, it reminded you of those frozen dog's poops during the winter, when from the fresh clay-like formation they started to evolve into those stony, covered in white balls, slowly drying up only to turn into something dangerously unrecognisable, but nevertheless much safer to step on.
Anyways, his sweater was green and yours red, making you both look like Grinch-cosplaying couple.
Nanami Kento was as tall as you remembered, although you've seen him twice in your life. Once, while you were running naked around his garden – well, maybe then he wasn't that tall, considering you were seven – and the second time on his wedding. With a beautiful, tall, raven-haired woman who probably posed for Vogue and wrote in the New York Times. Why were you even invited, though?
"Kento, you've grown so tall. Such a handsome man you are!" your mother chirped, gripping his biceps. "You remember my daughter, right? You used to play together all the time!"
That's not what you told me, but fine.
"Of course, ma'am. How could I forget–"
"That I run naked around your garden, yeah yeah," you laughed loudly, taking a sip of wine.
But the atmosphere suddenly froze and both looked your way with a slight furrow.
Oh shoot.
Your mom pinched your arm while Nanami stood unfazed. "I'm not sure about this one, but surely we spent a few birthdays together as children."
Fuck.
"Ah yes, that's right," you snorted, trying to not look at your mother's disappointed face.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it," she said and took Nanami's mother under arm, walking away.
The silence between you was almost chewing on your throat, as you took a drag on a cigarette. Nanami's hazel eyes were fixed on his glass, long fingers gripping it in a quite erotic way. Or maybe you didn't sleep with anyone for too long, and that's why his hands looked rather attractive, with the sweater's sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing pale, veiny arms.
Mmm.
"So, y/n, you're working in publishing?" he tackled, breaking the dangerous float of your thoughts.
"That's right. Well, maybe it's not as fun as your job, but I do enjoy it. Sometimes we have fun authors, but more often, not..." you started to babble, thinking of any way to lead the conversation and show your relatives that you, in fact, can talk to a man longer than five minutes and not make him feel repulsed. "And you're a very serious, famous human rights lawyer, right?"
"Yes, although I wouldn't call it fun..."
"Why? It's fun to safe people, right? Quite heroic, even."
His sandy brows furrowed, eyes following the sinless smile curving your cherry lips.
"My last clients were immigrant women enslaved by the international human trafficking group," your throat suddenly felt dry. "I'm not sure whether they would find it fun."
You cracked an awkward grin, taking another glass of wine from the nearby table.
Oh, for Christ's sake. How could you know!
"That sounds... yeah."
One of the aunts came your way, offering buttery cookies that tempted you in every way possible. But getting crumbs all over yourself in front of a man like Nanami sounded rather unappetizing, so you thanked her with a polite smile.
"Have you read any good books recently?" Right, you were an English graduate with a very serious and very professional job in publishing! "I just finished Wuthering Heights. For the third time, you see!"
You haven't even opened the dusty cover that's been sitting on your shelf since you bought it for one of the university's courses, and then read a summary on Wikipedia.
But he didn't need to know it all.
"A fine piece of literature," oh. "Do you also think that Catherine was tied to Heathcliff as much as to Edgar? And the romanticisation of their relationship is quite dull."
The cigarette between your fingers got shortened by half as you took a very deep drag. Fucking hell.
"Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking! And Heathcliff was such an... gentleman."
Nanami tilted his head with a furrow, probably thinking about the stupidity of your words. But before he could dissent, you quickly laughed in a foolish attempt to drag his attention to another topic.
"Well, do you have any New Year's resolutions? I want to stop smoking and drinking, ugh!" His eyes dropped to your hands, and you followed. "Oh, and keep to New Year's resolutions!"
His sharp eyes were lost somewhere between the smoke floating around and your smile that somehow made him curve his lips too, although you weren't sure whether it was in pity or actual fun.
No, impossible. This man didn't know how to have fun at all. You could see it in his chestnut eyes without any boggers and sandy hair that looked as if he spent hours picking one strand from the left side to the other, before leaving a few ones hanging sluttily on his forehead.
"Excuse me, I'll take some refreshments," he coughed and nodded politely, before going towards the kitchen and not, in fact, the snack table that had your favourite little sandwiches eyeing you out.
"Yep, yes, of course," you laughed, sending him off with an awkward snort.
Great, the black sheep of the family once again scared the man away with her loose tongue and foolish attempts to be funny. You could already see the disappointed eyes of your relatives and the heavy shakes of their heads.
Because, although Nanami was supposed to come back with refreshments, he, in fact, went straight for the main door.
᭝ ᨳଓ ՟
Monday was your day!
That's what you thought after waking up and seeing that the last slices of cheese were still not covered by mould (only the edges, but it was manageable) and the coffee express was stuffed with beans. You didn't kill yourself while walking down the very narrow and very curly stairs leading to your attic apartment, which was quite an achievement considering that you would usually miss the last step or worst - forget your keys and be damned to go back up!
The first time you saw it, with its cutesy crimson, but rather narrow doors, a thought of how anyone managed to push this fucking bathtub through them washed over your mind. Your bathtub wasn't even that wide, but the door provided quite a challenge, and you were happy that there was no need to hire a man who, in a suspicious and wall-damaging way, would haul the tub upstairs.
The weather was cold and frizzy – the sort that electrifies your hair, forcing to lift it up and clump with an old hair clip.
But today was good. Today needed to be good.
For your boss, the head of the editorial department, Gojo Satoru, was finally back from a week-long conference, trying to cream the best writers off.
He had looks and charm. The mesmerising smile that if had a chance could probably get women pregnant without the need to go through all the other awkward stages of sexual intercourse. He was bold but funny, with the whitest teeth you've ever seen and those slutty, blueish eyes. Such a playboy at that! Or a playground? Considering how many women jumped on him like a trampoline.
Editor of the year, best TV presenter, the most handsome man alive, the first place on Forbes under forty.
Gojo Satoru.
The same one, who just've sent you an email.
Good morning,
Quick reminder that whorish skirts are indeed not allowed in our company, and according to your contract, you are to stay fully dressed from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. from Monday to Friday.
Are you trying to seduce anyone, Mrs Editor? Please fix it up, or you may need to meet me in my office.
After hours.
Best regards,
Gojo Satoru
Oh, always such a flirt!
You giggled quietly, ignoring the stare of the girl sitting right behind you, and looked up. His office was right there, with tall glass windows putting him on display. Like a rare, caged animal or one of those lost Faberge eggs – too beautiful and completely off the table.
His crystal eyes looked up from the monitor, covered by a pair of slutty, rimless glasses. Lips lifted in a handsome grin, chin resting on hand as if awaiting your flushed response.
One of the favourite things about your work were those flirtatious messages between you and Gojo Satoru, with an occasional 2 p.m. meeting in the elevator when his hand would accidentally land on your back. Sometimes even lower.
Dear Sir,
I hope this email finds you well (although it's Monday).
I would like to remind you that our company does not have a specific dress code protocol. My skirt, moreover, is of appropriate mid-thigh length. Please note that your comments could be brought to HR's attention as a form of sexual harassment.
Unfortunately, I do not have time for the skirt police today, but Friday seems to be working quite fine. After 5 p.m., particularly.
Best Regards,
Very Very Busy Mrs Editor
You glanced back up, seeing a chuckle bubbling in his throat. Your fingers already burned with excitement, awaiting the next message that would be bold and gentlemanly at the same time, with this cheekiness Gojo Satoru always wore on his sleeve.
You noticed from a distance a quick pacing of his fingers, before the chat brightened up again.
Dear Very Busy (But Nevertheless Slutty) Mrs Editor,
Your email found me very well. However, I'm not sure whether threatening your boss with an HR on Monday morning is a good way to start your week.
As for the skirt, how about a meeting on Friday at 5:30 p.m.? We may go over the company's rule book and your contract once again. To see if there are any points regarding the proper dress code.
I suggest meeting first in the parking lot in my car and then finding a quiet place to enjoy the refreshments.
Do let me know whether you and your skirt are fine with such an appointment.
Best regards,
Your Boss and HR's Favourite Gojo Satoru
Oh dear, he was really going at it.
But how lovely it was! Seductive and thrilling!
Like seeing the three-day holiday starting on Wednesday, giving you a full six-day break! And if you had enough leave days, you could even take a Monday off and let yourself buy those cheap, hand-luggage-only plane tickets and go for a finally overly expensive trip.
Yes, that's how you felt while messaging your rake boss, who probably gave STDs to half of the female population.
Dear Sir Who Tends Too Abuse His Authority With Female Coworkers,
It seems you are a lost case and maybe not even HR can help in this disastrous situation.
My skirt and I are quite fine with this schedule.
Do let me know whether the skirt for the Friday's meeting should also be of similar length, or maybe I would be allowed to experiment a bit.
Anywyas, leaving my home address here in case I couldn't go back alone and you desperately needed to haul me upstairs, maybe even straight to the bedroom.
Best regards,
Very Busy Mrs Editor Who Really Doesn't Have Time To Chit-Chat
Satoru chuckled in the office, covering mouth with a fist. Cold eyes once again looked up from the computer, lips forming into a silent slut.
You shrugged, hopefully looking as if completely uninterested and quite casual for the nasty conversation you were having.
Dear Very Busy Mrs Editor Who Needs A Few Grammar Lessons,
Firstly, "tends to abuse", not "too". I think you meant "lost cause" and not a "case". Also, "anyways", not "anywyas". If you wish, we can go over the proper English grammar together.
I'm pretty good with my tongue, you see, thus may be of some help.
I'm also quite fond of this skirt of yours, and the shorter one could throw me into a seizure. And I'm only thirty, so I would like to enjoy my time a bit longer. However, for a strictly professional purpose, you may wear a piece of shorter cloth.
As for your home address, it's already safely tucked in my notes. If by pure accident, both of us will get a bit tipsy while going over the contract, be sure I will drag you in a very (non) gentlemanly way right to your apartment.
Should you have any other requests regarding our meeting (on my side, I'm quite fond of this lace bra that's showing through your shirt), do let me know.
Best regards,
Gojo Satoru
Head of the editorial department
Oh shoot!
You looked down at your shirt and just now've noticed the very dark, very laced bra that you've quickly pulled up in the morning. It was the only one with a still acceptable smell, although you should probably do the laundry before the Fridays’s date.
Cough.
Appointment.
Also, maybe you should work on the spelling. English graduate, after all.
Suddenly, you saw Satoru going out of his office and moving straight to the reception. Long legs hugged by loosely fitting trousers and an ocean shirt gripping his broad shoulder brought attention of everyone in the office.
Gojo Satoru was strictly, purely, impossible to ignore and took quite a pride in it.
He walked past your desk with a foxy smile and this foolish twinkle in his eyes, before winking at your tits.
Ugh, such a tease!
However, when Thursday came, Gojo suddenly cancelled the meeting with a shady excuse of a sudden appointment. On a Friday night. Prolonging straight to Sunday evening.
You were already huffing and puffing, with an important publishing event coming up soon, to which you needed to prepare yourself mentally and professionally. Firstly, you weren't much of a going-out person and mostly stayed in small circles with your closest friends. Secondly, the event was one of those fancy, cocktail-dress ones, with writers and publishers from all over the country gathering in one place. Perfect place to make connections!
But now, with his pathetic excuse, the greyish smoke of anger was almost floating over your head.
You've been flirting and chatting for the past few weeks, but he never suggested a proper out-of-work meeting. And you've never pushed, because Gojo Satoru was nothing but a one-night stand from two years ago, when you met in a pub by pure accident. Your friend was getting married, her bachelor's party was in this cheap, dive bar, with sticky floors and even stickier glasses, but always filled with fun and laughter.
Gojo was there not because he wanted to, but because one of his university friends dragged him up, and he just happened to not have any shagging plans on this day. You were both on a perfect level of drunkness, when two people planning the sexual intercourse are not quite tipsy but also not following towards the black out state, that could end up with hours spent puking all over the bathroom and maybe even and embarassing barf on his shoes. And because he was then as handsome, with the same cocky smile and obnoxious personality, you both had the best sex of your lives.
Until he ignored you, and you met him a year later in the current company.
Where were you... ah, yes. Gojo never proposed a proper date.
Till this week. Till Friday evening, for which you've already planned an outfit and even washed the most slutty lingerie set.
The one you've worn maybe thrice since buying it, because the lace was scratching your folds in the most horrendous ways imagined, but still looking rather sexy and coquettish. It was the sit-down date type of lingerie, because you couldn't walk in it for longer than an hour in total. Perfect for a quick restaurant date, taking a cab back home and getting it rolled down by Gojo's skilful fingers.
At least that's what you thought would happen.
But instead got left like a concubine waiting for her turn, while your whorish boss was shagging who knows who and where.
Fuck him!
You've slapped your cheeks twice, before going back to work and trying to ignore the curious looks of your coworkers.
All of you also go and fuck yourselves, for that matter!
This one's a bit shorter, but it's an kinda introduction <3
‧୧ ‧₊˚ 🍶 ⋅‧₊ ᵎᵎ nanami’s baby’s first disappointment is his father’s chest not giving him any milk >:(
the apartment was quiet in that soft, sleepy way mornings sometimes were, when the world outside hadn’t quite woken up yet and the city was still stretching itself awake. sunlight spilled through the curtains in pale gold streaks, warming the rumpled sheets and the blond hair of the man lying half-awake in the bed, one arm thrown lazily above his head in a pose that might have looked effortlessly graceful if not for the tiny human using his chest as a mattress.
nanami had survived curses that would make grown men weep. he had survived overtime at a company that viewed work-life balance as a mythical concept on par with unicorns. he had survived corporate life with all its soul-crushing meetings and passive-aggressive emails signed with smiley faces. he had even survived the horrors of public transport at rush hour, pressed so tightly against strangers that he’d had philosophical revelations about the true meaning of personal space.
but nothing— absolutely nothing, not in his wildest, most anxiety-ridden imaginings— had prepared him for fatherhood.
or, more specifically, for the tiny warm bundle currently lying on his chest like he was a piece of furniture that happened to be warm and breathing.
your baby made the softest little snuffling noises, squished against nanami’s bare torso with all the grace of a tiny potato, chubby cheek pressed right above his heart. the kid had zero concept of personal boundaries, which nanami supposed was fair since he’d helped create him, but still. it was a lot to process at— he squinted at the clock— 6:47 in the morning, when he had barely gotten any sleep that night.
nanami stared down at the small creature with a quiet, almost stunned softness that had become a permanent fixture on his face since the day they’d brought him home from the hospital.
“good morning,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice still rough with sleep.
the baby blinked up at him with wide, unfocused eyes that seemed to be attempting to process the concept of a face. then, like a determined little creature with a singular mission programmed into his tiny developing brain, he began to root around. his mouth opened and closed like a very small, very cute fish having an existential crisis.
nanami frowned slightly, still operating at about thirty percent cognitive capacity.
“…what are you looking for?”
the baby’s tiny hands grabbed onto his chest like he was scaling a small, hairy mountain. his fingers— so small they barely wrapped around nanami’s pinky— dug in with surprising strength for someone who couldn’t hold his own head up consistently.
then his mouth found nanami’s nipple.
nanami froze, laying utterly still.
his brain, which had handled high-stress situations involving special grade curses with remarkable composure, short-circuited entirely.
a very serious sucking noise broke the silence.
nanami stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly like a man attempting to reboot his own consciousness.
“that will not—”
slurp.
“—work.”
from the doorway came a quiet, muffled snort that sounded suspiciously like someone trying very hard not to wake the whole building with laughter.
you had woken up minutes earlier, had padded quietly through the apartment to the bathroom, and had arrived just in time to witness the scene unfolding like a nature documentary about a very confused predator-prey relationship(with the predator being your three-month-old and the prey being nanami’s nipple).
your baby, determined as ever, was enthusiastically trying to extract milk from their father’s chest with the single-minded focus of a tiny gold miner who had absolutely picked the wrong mountain to excavate.
nanami looked over at you with the calm, resigned expression of a man accepting his fate on the deck of a sinking ship.
“help,” he said flatly, not moving a single muscle, as if any movement might encourage the baby.
you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, trying very hard not to laugh and failing spectacularly. your shoulders shook with the effort of containing it.
“he’s trying his best.”
“i do not produce milk.”
“well he doesn’t know that, does he? he’s three months old. his entire understanding of the universe is that warm things sometimes have milk and he should suck on them until something happens.”
the baby sucked harder, as if sheer determination could change the fundamental biology of the situation.
nanami closed his eyes briefly, the picture of long-suffering patience.
“i can’t believe this.”
“kento,” you said sweetly, making your way over to the bed, “you’re so cute when you’re being defeated by a three-month-old.”
he sighed, the sigh suggesting he was contemplating the meaning of existence and his place in a universe that would allow such indignities to befall a man who had simply wanted a quiet retirement.
“this is ridiculous.”
for a moment the baby paused, as if considering his father’s words.
then he sucked again.
and sucked.
and sucked.
nanami’s expression grew increasingly concerned. “is he… is he getting anything?”
“air, probably. and maybe some existential disappointment.”
finally, your baby stopped.
he leaned back slightly, his tiny face scrunching in deep, philosophical confusion. his brow— what little brow a baby had— furrowed in a way that was eerily reminiscent of his father’s most serious expressions.
nanami looked down at him with careful wariness as the baby blinked. looked at the nipple again. then back up at nanami’s face.
and suddenly his face crumpled.
the loudest, most offended wail burst from his tiny lungs, a sound of pure betrayal that could have woken the dead and probably did wake the neighbors on the floor below.
nanami panicked instantly, his hands hovering uselessly around the screaming infant like he was holding a tiny, furious bomb.
“why is he crying? what did i do?”
you walked over, laughing openly now, reaching to scoop the indignant baby into your arms.
“because you scammed him, kenny. he thought there was milk. he put in the work. he did the labor. and you gave him nothing.”
nanami looked deeply troubled, his brow furrowed in genuine distress.
“i feel like i’ve committed some kind of fraud.”
the baby continued crying dramatically, tiny fists waving in the air like he was protesting an unjust universe, his face the color of a very angry tomato.
you settled into the bed beside nanami and adjusted your shirt, bringing the baby to your chest with the practiced ease of someone who had done this approximately eight million times in the past three months.
instantly, silence fell upon the room. the baby latched happily, tiny contented noises replacing the world-ending wails, his whole body relaxing into you.
nanami watched the transformation with quiet awe, his expression shifting from panic to wonder in the span of seconds.
“…ah.”
the tiny sucking noises resumed, this time satisfied and rhythmic, accompanied by little happy squirms.
nanami rested a gentle hand on the baby’s soft head, brushing the faintest fuzz of hair that was just starting to grow in, the same blond as his own.
his expression softened into something unbearably tender.
“traitor,” he murmured to the baby, but his voice held no accusation, only affection wrapped in mild annoyance.
you bumped your shoulder against his.
“jealous?”
“no.”
you gave him a suspicious look.
“…perhaps slightly. he’s very enthusiastic about milk.”
you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.
nanami leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s temple, breathing in that impossible new baby smell that still made his chest tight every single time.
“next time,” he said solemnly, as if making a sacred vow, “i will explain the situation beforehand.”
you laughed, the sound warm and bright in the quiet morning.
“let me know how that goes. i’m sure he’ll take extensive notes.”
the baby made a tiny happy noise, milk-drunk already, his eyes half-closed in bliss, one little hand reaching out blindly and grabbing hold of one of nanami’s fingers with the grip of a tiny vice.
his large hand curled carefully around their baby’s impossibly small one, marveling for the thousandth time at how something so tiny could hold so much of his heart.
in that quiet, warm morning light, with you warm beside him and your baby half-asleep against your chest, making those soft little sounds, his tiny fingers wrapped around nanami’s like he’d never let go, nanami felt something he had never quite known before.
peace.
not the absence of worry— he would always worry now, he’d accepted that— but a kind of settled contentment, a rightness, like all the pieces of a life he hadn’t known he was building had finally clicked into place.
“i suppose,” he said softly, “this is acceptable.”
you smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“just acceptable?”
nanami looked at you, then at his son, his thumb brushed gently over his tiny knuckles, feather-light, reverent.
“perfect.” he corrected quietly, and meant it with every fiber of his being.
outside, the city continued its morning noise, the distant rumble of trains and the first stirrings of traffic. but inside that apartment, in that golden morning light, three people existed in their own small, perfect world.
the baby, now fully asleep, made one last little satisfied noise. nanami smiled. for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t think about curses or work or any of the things that had weighed on him for years.
he just was.
and that, he realized, was more than enough.
[ an. this was literally dying in my drafts begging to be let out ]
the sluttiest thing a man can have is, one: glasses.
and two: big muscles.
luckily for you, nanami kento has both—and you’re currently sitting on top of him, completely naked, fully cockdrunk, with both hands pressed to his chest like you’re trying to memorize the map of his body.
he’s flushed beneath you, golden skin kissed pink at the cheekbones, collarbone, everywhere your mouth has touched. his tie is still on—loosened, dangling uselessly across the pillow—and his glasses are pushed slightly askew on his face from the way you’d pulled him in earlier, greedy and breathless, whispering something about how you needed to be on top.
he hadn’t said no. he never does, not when you ask so sweetly. not when you roll your hips like this.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice tight, head tipping back against the pillows. his hands grip the sheets instead of your waist—he’s trying not to move, letting you lead, but you can feel how badly he wants to take control. you can see it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his abs clench under your palms every time you sink down just a little deeper.
you rake your nails lightly across his chest, then lean down and lick a long, wet stripe from his sternum to the underside of his jaw.
his breath stutters. “w-what are you doing?”
“you look so good,” you murmur, tongue flicking just beneath his ear, and you feel him twitch inside you. “can’t believe i get to fuck you.”
he groans—like you’ve ruined him just by saying it. one of his hands flies up to grip your ass, fingers digging into your flesh like he can’t help it. you keep riding him, dragging your cunt along the thick length of him until his hips are bucking up involuntarily, just chasing the heat.
“you’re the one who’s gorgeous,” he breathes, voice rasping now, completely wrecked. “you’re… insufferable.”
you grin, licking another trail up his chest just to feel him shudder. “and yet you’re still letting me use you like a toy.”
his head rolls to the side, glasses fogging, hair mussed, lips parted. he looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more divine.
♡.ᐟ GN! Reader x N. Kento ☽☾ slight suggestive/smut ☽☾ fluff ☽☾ religious imagery
Kento loved your name.
Be it the one given to you on your birth or one you fashioned for yourself as a teenage rebellion. He loved them all the same.
He loved your given name and how he could spin them into his personal endearment to adorn you with. He loved the syllables weighing on his tongue, sweet and tangy like the aftertaste of your essence he loved to taste — his favourite meal, really.
He loved the name you gave yourself (“Self expression!” You had called it and he had hummed in agreement, whatever his darling says, yes?) and how they encapsulated the complexities of your personality. He loved teasing you with that just as much.
Well, but then again, Nanami Kento was a simple man, swayed by the lecherous temptations of bias when it would come to you, to his beloved, to be lured away in the stream of favouritism even when you were all his favourites wrapped in the package of his soulmate.
Kento didn’t give in to whims easily, except when it came to you.
Endearments, affections, and nicknames — every inch of softness his heart had shielded was yours anyway so why would he not deliver the cotton candied words at the cusp of your ears, if he could?
He liked to believe that even among nicknames he didn’t have favourites.
He liked your name and how reverently he could say it during your common work hours. But in the cocoon of your home, the professionalism would strip away to expose the tenderness Kento carried for no one but you.
Soft touches, softer words — all for you, and he gave it so freely.
He liked every variation of name his mind conjured for you.
He liked the gentle murmur of my love he’d whisper against your hair or your neck on a tired day, exhaustion leaving him limp in your arms. Your delicate smile was rejuvenating alone. He liked how you’d hum at him absently, breathing in his love as effortlessly as he would permeate the air with that devotion. He liked how your hands touched his shoulder or forearms as reciprocal of his words. That was reward enough, for him.
The two syllabled coo of honey was the easiest replacement of your name. It was something he crept to anywhere he could. Be it some odd spare minutes of privacy in your common workplace or the corner of a grocery aisle, he reverted to the saccharine viscosity to carry the depths of his love even in the most mundane, most boring tasks you could endeavour. Why would he let you feel the void if his devotion could fill the gaps just as easily?
Kento didn’t have a favourite, but he knew you had one. If his observations were right, he supposed the microsecond pause in your actions when he called you darling, indicated just how much you liked it when he called you that. He didn’t mind it, he loved it actually. It wasn’t a daily occurrence for you to be so off guard, with the sole exception of when the litany of darling would escape his lips. Your eyes would sometimes meet his if the word accompanied a question, like you were greedily devouring every vowel and consonant like you would never hear it again. He’d almost cajole your innocent gluttony at his simple words — all that affection was all for you and you alone, after all.
Now, Kento wasn’t someone who could be swayed easily. He was rigid, uptight to a fault — repressed even. But your special powers included bypassing all those flaws like they had never existed in the first place. He carried this exact rigidity in how he referred to you. His terms of endearments were always respectful, romantic to the point it bordered on seductive. Yet, for all his precision and control, he’d slip up. The respectful pressure of, my love, honey, darling, lifting away to give way to something not just you — but he himself flushed at the idea of calling you.
It was silly, really. But Kento couldn’t help but feel a thrum of sacrilege at the mumble of baby that would leave his throat in the dredges of his lust. He would try his damned hard to not call you that, for you deserved a term that a divinity like you personified, and the infantilism wasn’t his style.
But then again, he was a man, a weak one at that under your power and influence and love that his composure would slip, again and again and again.
How could he not? How could he not if you tasted so ethereal on his tongue, and curled so perfectly in his arms. With your hips a dragging hedonistic sensation against his own, how could his sanity not crumble, especially when coupled with the most precious sounds you’d make under his palm? How could you expect Kento to be so composed when every aspect of you crumbling under his ministrations had him muffling his needy groans and whimpers in the crook of your neck? How could you expect him to pull up with divine titles when his mind would be full of you — your visage, your curves, your taste, your sound, your eyes — you, you, you.
Kento was, in the end, just a weak man.
A/N: couldn’t go a week without writing for my husband mhm
Synopsis. When you came knocking at Nanami Kento’s mansion, stranded in the middle of a storm, he couldn’t turn you away just like that - could he? After all, you smelled so cold, so scared, so…delectable. And you might learn that there’s a reason they keep demons locked away in large, lonely mansions. Because didn’t you know that he’s one hell of a butler?
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, demon butler!Nanami, Black Butler AU, plot, powers, mansions, use of ‘my lady’, slight bIood and vioIence, slightly yan!Nanami, slight angst, reincarnations, yearning, pússydrúnk Nanami, fíngering, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, p talking, manhandIing, matíng presses, use of his demon powers, x-rays, he’s a gentleman until he breaks, rough s, running from it, creampíes, cúmpIay, soul bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.6k
A/N. Spooky season isn’t over until I say so…
“Goddamm- oh.” The merciless hand of the storm swipes your face, and you instantly clamp your eyes and lips shut against the sting.
It was a night colder than cold, a storm crueler than cruel. Fallen instantly: it was as if someone had simply snuffed out the light of day, and plunged you into a world that hurtled on its axis. Despite the portico you stood underneath, you clutched your tattered coat tighter against the wind.
This place had been the first you’d encountered during your treacherous walk. A light. And without thinking, you’d stumbled towards it.
Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter.
The fog thickens. Your fist raises, knock-knock-knocking against the tall, wooden door. It was decorated in intricate swirling patterns and engravings that you couldn’t make out in the darkness right now.
You wonder whether whoever was inside could even hear you over the storm. Desperately, your fist raises to knock again when-
The door opens.
And inside stands a handsome blond man.
Almost otherworldly.
“My lady.”
Your breath hitches, and you’re not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the rich baritone of his voice, the way it pierced your ears even above the wind, wetness, and anger of the storm. Perhaps it was his classically handsome face - slicked-back hair, high cheekbones, a pert mouth that was somehow knowing - like in one of those historical paintings, a Prince Charming.
You wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint him in any century.
Or perhaps it was the way that when you stepped back, on instinct, he leaned down to loop a strong arm around your waist in a single, fluid motion. So fast that you muse he might’ve teleported.
Whoosh–!
You startle at the noise above you, and look up to find that the strange man had unfolded an umbrella over the two of you - one that you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.
He lets the berth of it cover your frame, like the dark wings of a bat stretched taut. Uncaring of whether he himself gets wet, the man shields you against the icy billows of rain that blew through the portico. His warm grin stretches, urging. “My lady?”
“O-oh.” It registers that he was speaking to you. You’re unsure where to place your palms, and they lay flatly open against the man’s toned chest. Still. “My apologies for- for the intrusion so late. But I…”
You were getting distracted by his kind, molten eyes is what. But he finishes for you with a slight huff of amusement, “Happened to get caught in this monstrosity of a storm, am I right in guessing?” At your nod. “Well, it’s no wonder then, my lady. I’m only glad you made it here safe.”
“I-” You were right in feeling like you weren’t able to pinpoint which century he was from. Because his tone of speaking wasn’t reminiscent of any dialect you’ve ever heard before - something melodic yet stiff, something understandable yet…dated.
And despite your incessant pondering, he stands as patiently as ever. Holds you as patiently as ever.
Even though the wind ruffled that neat hair of his, and the rain pelted his sides without the cover of the umbrella. You hasten to explain yourself, “I was actually on my way from a work function, a bit far away. When this storm suddenly hit and my car broke down in the middle of it- actually, I think it ended up in some ditch with no power, which is why I ended up- well- here.” You finish, lamely.
He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.
“And I really do apologize for the intrusion, really, but if I could stay just until the storm blows over and I can call for help-”
“Do forgive me for interrupting you, my lady.” The man’s precise tone speaks once more, “But you may stay here as long as you like.”
Relief washes down your spine like a bucket of heat, melting you instantly. “Oh, thank you- thank you.” And before you know it, you’re falling deeper into his arms.
“A lady must not thank a mere worker.” He hums with a tut, and you wonder whether that means he was one of the staff at this large building - what little you could see of the silhouette seemed larger than a normal house, and you’d assumed that it was some hotel at first.
He steps soundlessly to help you steady yourself. And you’re soon being warmly gestured inside, the umbrella being held over your head with each step, even as he stepped aside into the rain to let you through. “Come now, we must dry you off at once. Being in the cold for this long won’t be good for your constitution, my lady.”
You step inside as he directs, and it feels like stepping into a warm bath - just right.
And what you’d seen in the distance - that yolky, blinking light that led you here, your body moving as if on instinct - wasn’t actually a lightbulb, as you’d thought. In actuality, it was about a dozen, flaring chandeliers.
Illuminating a fresco of gardens and flowers and spring. Lined along the sprawling ceiling like fruits that were overripe, fit to burst. They danced ever-so-slightly in the draught that the open door brought, yet not a single candle extinguished from what you could make out.
You felt so tiny in the house- mansion, as you were quickly coming to learn.
Greeted by an imperial staircase made of marble, and accents of gold that fought with the chandeliers over which one of them shined brighter. You don’t think you could possibly count how many hallways holed themselves into the mansion just from here. Hidden caverns filled with antiques, and ever-green chrysanthemums, and paintings that you could just see the corners of. Upon either side of the entrance were large Clerestory windows that provided snapshots of the flared lightning outside; so high up, so large, that it made the front door feel dwarfed.
You think it looks strangely familiar - perhaps something reminiscent of those illustrations you’d seen in classic stories.
Curiously, along the winding corridors, you note that there were many mirrors. Some small and bejeweled, some tall from ceiling to floor.
In intervals unknown to you, they stood out - the brightest of them all.
You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-
“My apologies for startling you, my lady.” Comes your host’s deep voice, and you whirl around to find him bowed. With a warm, citrus-scented towel presented to you (when did he even have the time to get that?) “Please, do make use of this towel to rinse off the water on your body. If you would like, I may do it for you?”
“No no, I can do it.” You insist, feeling your heart race. His stern lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when you reach for it. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. I wouldn’t want my lady getting sick.”
My lady…
You shake your head, trying to get it free of that giggling lil’ voice that kept repeating those two words. Instead, you take the towel from the beautiful man and—oh.
Underneath your breath, you gasp through your nose. Because the very second that your fingers had grazed his own when taking the towel, a chill wafted down your spine. So cold. So…unnatural. You weren’t sure whether it was the sheer temperature, or the fact that it was the sheer temperature of his hand.
Why was he so cold?
Almost as if he sensed your thoughts, the man swiftly pulls his hand away. And it’s only then that you realize that he was dressed so smartly.
Shoes polished till they reflected your bewildered stare. Well-fitted black pants. A three-piece suit filled out by his broad shoulders. Black tailcoat. High collar. Steely buttons. And an emblem on his coat pocket that you couldn’t read from here. Gloves. Ah—so that was why he was so cold, you guessed.
Surely there was no other reason, right?
Lightning flashes.
The rooms lights up in ice-white.
“Oh dear, it seems the storm won’t be getting any better tonight.” He announces, clapping his hands twice. And then, previously unseen curtains start closing in on the windows so high above. Effectively shutting out the storm, the night, and with it, the world.
You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.
“We best get you to bed immediately, my lady.” The blond-haired man says, his hair gleaming in the candlelight - and you could’ve sworn that it’d been all ruffled and messy by the storm just prior. Now, it was untouched, as if he’d never stepped outside.
He rounds the entrance, politely gesturing at you to follow.
“Such a lovely place.” You observe, as you’re led up the staircase and into the East wing. The hallways were tall and ancient, humming with centuries of stories untold. And, as you’d expected, the antiques, the chrysanthemums, the paintings.
Blurs of faces that you were walking too quickly by to properly make out.
“Why thank you, my lady.” He looks back briefly, holding a golden candelabra to light your pathway. Still walking, he doesn’t need to stop to speak. “This is an old home, with old bones, old secrets.” The man cracks a grin, “I should know, I have been lucky to call myself a worker of this fine home for a long time.”
So he did work here - a butler, all signs were pointing to. You hum, butlers had always seemed like something out of a soap opera, or those regency novels.
Having him in front of you like this made you feel somewhat dizzy.
And you were entranced by the noiseless way he moved, “And how long is a long time?”
“Oh, one could say it feels like…centuries.” He chuckles to himself.
You make a few turns, heading deeper into the mansion. And you can’t help but notice that you’ve yet to see a single other person here except the two of you-
“The masters of this home are more in name.” The butler says, in his smooth tone. Like he could sense the question forming. “This house has been passed down through generations, and I fear that I have yet to officially meet whoever owns this grand establishment now.”
“Oh?” Your brows raise, “They seriously don’t come to visit a house this beautiful? Not even as a vacation home?”
“I’m afraid so. It is all but abandoned.” He nods, “But alas, I do not complain. They employ me here to clean and take care of this home, and that’s all I can ask. To preserve a piece of history so magnificent, no matter how much they try to forget…it shall always haunt you.”
“So you’re alone here?”
He stops then. And turns back to you with an unreadable expression- oh, something about the way the candelabra outlined the hollows of his face made you feel cold all over again. “I’m afraid so.” Voice quiet. “Would you prefer otherwise, my lady?”
In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.
“No no, nothing like that.” You rush to answer, not wishing to offend the kind soul helping you for the night (and honestly, even despite that, you didn’t feel a speck of discomfort with him- in fact, you felt…at ease). “Honestly, you’ve been more than a delight- I was just wondering whether you don’t get lonely in such a big house, all by yourself. I certainly would visit.”
He observes you for a moment. Before his warm expression is back again- “Do not worry yourself over my wellbeing, my lady, of course, as all good workers do, I have gotten used to it. Yet…I must admit that there is the occasional night in which I, too, crave humanity—”
You listen, enraptured.
Before he then gestures to the door in front of which you’d stopped at - you hadn’t even noticed. It was an unassuming mahogany door, polished and pristine like all the rest.
His gloved hands gently twist the doorknob and lead you inside. “Your room, my lady.” He leaves the candelabra on top of a cabinet by the doorway. “I have arranged for a warm bath to be prepared for you, with a fine selection of body washes and shampoos from around the world. After which I ask you to allow me to treat you to a light supper in bed, as you must be hungry after such an exciting night. Kindly ring the bell-” He gestures at a slim handbell on the cabinet beside the candelabra that you hadn’t seen before. “-and I shall be here for you before the second ring.”
“This is…” You look around the room- chamber, more like.
The candles on the chandelier inside had lit up as soon as you stepped inside (you had to figure out that mechanism, somehow!) Bathing the expansive bedroom in a soft glow, like this, it almost looked like a piece of heaven itself.
An antique chamber. A four-poster king-sized bed in the middle. A plethora of sweet-scented flower pots. A few paintings of landscapes. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the balcony, the garden. Though now, you could only see the storm outside. On one side of the room, you could see a shelf of thick tomes, impeccably dusted, and next to it was a fireplace. Roaring.
You wondered how he had the time to light it.
On the other side it opened up to what you imagined must be an equally as luxurious bathroom. The polished tile squeaked as you made your way inside, reflecting your wind-torn coat that felt more than out-of-place in such a room. It almost felt like you were wading across a ballroom.
You whirl, and you note that one of the walls adjacent to the bed wasn’t taken up by some painting or mural or wallpaper- it was nearly covered by a gleaming mirror. How interesting.
“-this is amazing.” You breathe.
“I am glad that it is to your liking, my lady.” He bows, “If you need anything, or wish to ask anything, simply ring the bell.”
And as the blond-haired man moves to exit with a final bow, you reach your hand out- “Wait-”
He turns. “My lady?”
“Ah, I didn’t ring the bell but- your name.” You fiddle with the drenched fabric of your coat as you ask, wondering whether it was salvageable anymore. You tell him your own name, before questioning, “Can I ask your name?”
He smiles. “Nanami Kento, my lady.” And there’s a zip of excitement that runs through your body at finally putting a name to a handsome face. Nodding, you expect that that would be the end of your small pleasantries, and you turn back-
But before he leaves for good tonight, Nanami speaks over his shoulder. “And worry not, I am one hell of a butler.”
You snap your head back to listen to him speak, and find that he was already gone.
The hallway was dark outside, and there was a slight wind coming in. You hasten to shut the door and find that you can’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps disappearing, can’t even hear his shadow—well, you always had the bell, right?
You shook off the slight prickling at your skin, and welcomed yourself into the clouds of warmth spiffing from the bathroom.
.
.
.
That night may have been the best sleep of your life, you had to admit. Like you’d been home, and doubled by the luxury of the place.
It might have something to do with the fact that the massive bed was amongst the comfiest things you’ve ever felt, or it might have something to do with the easy cotton fabric of the pyjamas that Nanami had left while you were bathing.
You’d come out of the bathroom, refreshed (the bathroom ceiling was blanketed with the most beautiful mosaics, and the bathtub was accented with gold), only to find that he’d left out nightwear of your liking.
Of your exact size.
You’d stopped then, wondering how he managed to find something that fit you so perfectly.
Perhaps it was a lucky guess, and a previous owner of the mansion happened to be your exact size? Then again, it did feel so new in your hands…
Without wearing yourself out even further, you’d rung the bell and partaken in a quick dinner (you’d been famished, having only scoffed down a protein bar during the conference). And then chosen to ignore the shivers that ran down your spine to tuck yourself in. Soon oblivious to the storm, and the mansion’s creaking, and the eyes that seemed to watch you at night.
It all felt like part of a dream.
In the morning, you’d awoken to the twittering of birds, and a slab of golden sunlight, like butter, filtering in through the window. Nanami had already laid out a gorgeous princess-line dress of emerald green for you, with a deep v-cut collar that showed just a coy bit of skin, and a silhouette that flattered your frame perfectly.
That, too, was the perfect fit.
You adjusted your sleeves and couldn’t help but titter to yourself as you felt like a princess. In no time after you got ready, there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, come in.”
It couldn’t be anyone but Nanami. And he looked as handsome as the last time you’d seen him (earlier, in the late hours of the night you’d almost wondered whether it was the dimness that made him look so extraordinarily handsome).
But no, he was as beautiful as ever. His golden hair glinting in the sun, like a halo, and his smile beaming as he walks closer to you. “Good morning, my lady.” Nanami bows, “I see you have already prepared yourself for the day. How exquisite you look, should my eyes fall upon such a sight every morning then I should be blessed. Am I correct in assuming that the dress is adequate to your tastes?”
“It’s just beautiful, Nanami.” You run your hands down the sides, admiring. “I don’t know how you managed to get my perfect size.”
He brings a gloved index up to his lips, with a wink. “A butler always had his secrets.” Before he straightens up, “Now, if you would allow me, may I help you with your hair and make-up?”
“Oh-” You’d just thought about rifling through the vanity’s drawers, with the slight hope that you might find the products you use. And as if he could read your mind, he was offering. “Are you…sure?”
“It would be my honor, my lady.” Nanami sits you down on the chair before the vanity mirror. His broad frame behind you- from here, you could see just how snugly that tailcoat fit his slender waist. “You may keep your eyes on me, or on yourself- please tilt your chin up—”
Soft, cold hands get to work.
And you really did feel like a princess.
.
.
.
By the time you’re walking downstairs for breakfast, you find yourself all dolled up just the way you like it - and you didn’t even have to give Nanami too many directions. You thoroughly considered taking him back once you leave.
With the crook of his elbow stuck out for you to hold onto, his biceps flexed, you made your way to sit at the head of a long table. Narrow and at least as lengthy as two of your bedrooms back home.
Him trailing behind you at the entrance, you excitedly walk forwards to sit down- and have your chair pushed in by…Nanami?
You look towards the entrance once more, you could’ve sworn that he was still there the last time you looked.
He swiftly placed a steaming silver dish of breakfast in front of you, and then filled the table up with so many fruit platters upon toast upon sneaky puddings. Your eyes took in the kaleidoscope of food, feeling slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. “Did you—did you make all of this just this morning, Nanami?”
“What, this?” He looked in slight surprise at the table, as if wondering whether that was really an incredible amount. “Just part of my duties, my lady. Along with the cleaning, the baking, and the watering, a few to name.”
You look behind you - the dining room overlooked part of the garden that you hadn’t noticed last night during the storm.
Plush plants that somehow seemed unaffected by the torrents of water that had poured down: roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, and weeping willows that all swayed idly in the wind. Like they were welcoming you. Welcoming you back. They were planted in a maze-like pattern. From here you think you could see flower-filled archways, and a lake that glittered underneath the sun.
You wondered how you missed it all last night - surely you would have stumbled across a few of the hedge growth? It all seemed so barren as you’d wound your way up to the portico, so acrid. But now…
“And if you don’t mind me being so brazen, I hope you do forgive me for this.” Nanami says, and you whip your head back to him- him and a very familiar set of car keys he was holding. “I took the freedom to move your car into our driveway.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of their skull, “You mean you pushed it all the way here?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Nanami smiles that secret smile, “Would you like to take a look at it after breakfast, my lady?”
You nod fervently, gulping down the rest of your breakfast.
In a few minutes, you’d already finished and was being tutted by Nanami into drinking enough water and putting on the outside slippers (procured by him, also your exact size) before you went outside. As expected, your car was a wreck.
There was one wheel missing and the engine seemed to be completely busted.
“I have already summoned the town’s mechanic.” He’s telling you, as you looked on at the car in gloom - that thing had taken up a lot of savings to acquire, and above all you hated to see it in such a sorry state. How would you get home?
“And?” You ask, eagerly. “Did they say when they would get here?”
“I’m afraid he won’t be here for at least a few days, my lady.” Nanami frowns empathetically, mirroring you. “The storm last night was quite vicious, you see. It has most of the roads blocked with trees, and until those get cleared up, he won’t be able to make it up here.”
You swear underneath your breath.
“But the good news is you can stay here as long as you like!” He attempts to lighten the mood, with a smile. “In fact, I might just keep you even longer.”
“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”
“I insist.”
And that was that, it seems you’d be staying here for a little longer than you’d originally planned. Though, with Nanami’s hospitality, you doubted you’d feel anything but at home.
Right?
.
.
.
The rest of your day and the next was spent simply reading the fantasy novels in your bedroom, lounging in the gardens and corners of the mansion.
By your second day there you’d explored every inch of the mansion that there was to explore (except for, perhaps the basement. A strangely nostalgic door outside. Which you had reached the very foot of, before Nanami had gently nudged you back inside with some comment about wines being mulled there that cannot see the light of day until the time was right). It’d taken you five entire days to get yourself properly acquainted with the place.
And with your profanities.
Spewing them out, you don’t think you’ve ever used before as you attempted to get even a single bar of signal for your phone.
“Goddammit-” You grit your teeth, for the nth time in the past hour. It’s your second day in the mansion, and you’re leaning over the balcony of your bedroom, so far outwards that you think you might just fall off.
With your hand outstretched, phone fisted in the air and searching for a signal. You couldn’t call anyone like this, let alone the mechanic to confirm. None of your messages or emails went through, either. “How are we this far up and yet I can’t get a single bar- oh, when I get home I’m cancelling this stupid subscription mark my words.”
“Might I suggest, my lady–” Nanami says from behind you. He stood beside your bed, changing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. “-that in the meantime you perhaps take a look at our library? I think you’ll find that we have certain books that are quite riveting.”
“Maybe…” You respond, still stung by the uselessness of your phone. “I don’t suppose that in the meantime you could also arrange a messenger pigeon for me, could you?”
He perks up, “I shall tame a pigeon immediately-”
“No no, it’s alright.” You wave off, with a stifled laugh. Ah- he always did manage to put you in a better mood, despite your circumstances. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the library tonight, it beats trying not to smash my phone to bits.”
“Quite.” Nanami quips.
And before you can say anything more, he’s walking over to you. Placing his hand on top of the phone - effectively on top of yours—“After all, it is a beautiful day outside. Would you fancy a walk in the garden, my lady?”
“Y-yes please-” You whisper, at his proximity. Cold to the touch.
“Then, I shall get your slippers ready.” He smiles, and leaves. You can only look from afar as he exits, letting a breath leave your chest that you didn’t know you’d been holding in for the moment.
Your head drops down without thinking to look at your phone. Only—
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
You furrow your brows, trying to press on a few buttons- but the error message doesn’t leave. It glitches. Different from the meager ‘no signal’ symbol that’d been there earlier. And the crashed page is all you can see once more.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
.
.
.
The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.
The error message lasts all the way until after lunch. After dinner.
It was in the dead of your third night here, under the veil of darkness, when you finally manage to find a signal.
Despite your phone having crashed, and despite your feet aching from your productive day, you found yourself leaning over the edge of your bedroom balcony once more. The edge of your phone reaching outwards—one bar of signal obtained.
You breathe out in relief, falling back onto the heels of your feet. The wind was whipping in spirals around you, creating a cloud of your nightdress to billow. Soft silk. Feeling like the touch of a hand.
You look at the phone screen that had finally stopped flashing that error sign, and eagerly tap towards the phone app. Only—
Your phone vibrates with a call.
Confused at the Unknown number, you wonder whether this might be someone from home that’s been worried about your whereabouts. And so you don’t question it much when you slide the blaring bar and answer the call. “Hello?”
No one answers.
You repeat, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
No one answers.
Perhaps it was the wind that was making you hard to hear? You turn away from the gales slightly, careful not to lose the humble signal that you have. And you press your phone harder against your face. “Hello? Who’s this-”
No one answers.
But that’s when you hear it: heavy breathing.
Low and labored. Like someone had just run a mile and immediately picked up the phone, somehow dialing your number.
“Is this some sort of prank?” You hiss, “Because it isn’t funny. Who is this?”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Answer me-”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Hello?”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Answer me-”
There’s a sharp tone as the phone ends, whether by you or whoever was on the other end of the line you’re not quite sure.
Heavy breathing.
This time, not from the phone.
You whirl around with a gasp—the curtains gust out at a sudden wind. And there’s no one behind you - there’s no sound of breathing behind you, either. But you’re sure you’d heard it before. You’re sure.
Lightning flashes in the distance.
There’s the rumble of thunder that almost sounds like laughter- in fact, you’re sure that if you let your ears keenly listen in, it was laughter. Masculine and deep. Echoing into the distance, like it was someone surrounding you.
With your phone clutched to your thundering chest, you’re quickly walking to the safety of your bedroom inside. And you decide to lock every window that night.
You couldn’t sleep.
.
.
.
The day after that - your third day in the mansion now, your fourth night - there was still no sign of the car mechanic. You’d taken to sleeping during the day, lounged upon an intricately woven love seat that was inside your chambers.
Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.
He was as warm and welcoming as ever, of course. Always so efficient getting you the things you needed, helping you get ready, and cooking your favorite foods - almost too efficient. Any time you looked at him, he never seemed to have a hair out of place, despite being embroiled in the toughest of domestic tasks (he took offense any time you offered to pull your own weight until the mechanic arrived).
Practically perfect.
Almost unnatural.
You wondered how he had the time to do it all…
And that foggy night, you tossed and turned amongst the sea of expensive silken blankets. Ultimately, as the clock struck 2AM and you still found yourself unable to sleep, you got off the side of the mattress and walked. To the candelabra on the cabinet. And then outside.
With no fixed aim nor destination, your feet took you down one of the paths you’d explored during your days here. Though, you had the faintest feeling that even if you hadn’t explored- you’d have known your way around here. Past unwilted flowers and paintings that seemed to stare you down as you passed. And soon enough, you were standing in front of the great double doors of the library.
One of them, at least.
Nanami had told you that the mansion boasted about five massive libraries, filled to the brim with books across all ages and authors. And the smell of pages and put-out fires greet your senses when you enter, your slippers thudding across the cold stone floor.
The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.
And from above peered severe gargoyles, their wings outstretched, and their mouths mid-scream as if to warn you not to take a step closer. You wrapped your arms around your body and shivered, looking up at the high shelves.
With one hand craned out, you trace your fingers down their thick spines. Not a speck of dust on them.
Until, finally, the hairs at the back of your neck seem to raise–
You look behind you.
Nothing.
It was dark in the library, the sole source of light being the paper-thin moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Casting an almost eerie glow on everything it’s spindly fingers touched.
Though, you still don’t think you would be able to sleep if you headed back to your bedroom right now. And you curiously read the book spines where you stopped walking (it was too dark to make them out properly, yet you still take a few of them with you, in hopes of a distraction).
You sit down at the nearest wooden table, and the singular candle holder in the middle of it flickers to life. As if awakened by your presence.
You really wondered what this mechanism must be - you made a mental note to ask Nanami tomorrow. And in the glow, you could now see what books you’d actually picked up.
Baker’s Book (1901)
Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm
Pride and Prejudice
A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions
That one was struck through, its scabrous leather cover torn as if someone had ripped through it with a knife. You squinted as you tried to read through the title, to no avail.
Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love
That last one seemed a little out of place amongst the rest- well. You took a look around. Perhaps it wasn’t that out of place.
And in the dancing candlelight, you open the first book and begin to read.
.
.
.
You’d fallen asleep there.
Somewhere midway through a paragraph about how this very mansion had no official founder, and how it had been handed to the first owner by chance; thus, resulting in its descent into discourse over ownership (with masters who, surprisingly, rather than fighting for it had been fighting not to have it), and how the whereabouts of the last master was unknown.
You dreamt of contracts and haggling masters and packed bags and demons. The red, red eyes of a demon that watched from the shadows.
As much a part of the mansion as the mansion was part of him.
And you swear that in the depths of your slumber, you felt cold, cold hands graze your skin. Your cheek. Your arms. With his pointed fingernails that were meant to kill.
A candle snuffs out.
You woke up and it was morning, and someone had draped a blanket over you.
.
.
.
Nanami had noticed that you were becoming more and more engulfed in your books. After several more tries to reach a phone signal had failed, you’d resigned yourself to merely waiting for the mechanic to get to you.
He informed you that the road clean up seemed to have been taking longer than usual, given the constant downpour the land was experiencing. And you understood.
After all, you weren’t lacking for anything here at all. Nanami made sure of that.
You’d moved on from the mysterious, and half-recorded, history of the mansion. Somehow more interesting than you might have imagined. On towards the baking book, the novel, even the domestic book.
Until the only thing left out of the book you’d picked was the eerie one about demons. Though you could easily go back and choose another, you weren’t a quitter!
And so you found yourself flipping through its pages, all the while watched over by a silent Nanami.
You begrudgingly admitted that the book had you enraptured. And soon enough, you were drinking in all there was to drink about the rituals it took to summon said demons, the way they could take on the most exquisite appearances, and even a few ‘real life’ recounts of people who’ve encountered them.
“Look at this one, Nanami.” You pointed somewhere on the page, and he leaned over your shoulder kindly to follow your finger. “The person saying they saw a demon here is from this very town, hah! What a coincidence.”
He smiles, “What a coincidence indeed, my lady.”
“Just imagine- meeting a demon. I wonder what it would be like- I’d probably get my soul stolen in an instant.”
“Demons steal souls only after they’ve bound a human in a contract, my lady. Though other methods of payments for a demon’s services can manifest themselves in the form of blood, flesh, sex. They thirst for those things, demons. Going without is almost worse than death- of course, a demon can’t die.” At your slightly stunned silence, Nanami cocks his head. “Chapter sixteen, the ways of the body.”
“R-right.” You start, “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be the type to be into such things.”
He bears a secret smile. A secret, secret smile. “There is much that you don’t know of me, my lady.” Nanami spreads butter on a piece of toast without you even asking to, and places it gently down on your plate. “But of course, there is much time to find out.”
.
.
.
It’s by your sixth day that Nanami finally knocks at your bedroom door, deep into the evening. And he informs you that-
“The mechanic shall be here in a few hours, my lady.” You look outside through your window, at the blue and gold night. And of course he notices that little action - he notices everything. “I may have had a hand in the somewhat ah- untimely manner of things. You see, I had pressured him into coming as soon as possible, and it seems that the roads have only just cleared.”
“Oh, I see.” You reply, “I expect I should go down to wait for him in a bit, then.”
“If you so wish, my lady.”
After dinner, you took your demon book with you and paced the halls of the mansion. Just waiting. It was a few hours past when the mechanic was supposed to come, and you could feel yourself getting antsy. No matter how many times Nanami told you the mechanic would be here soon, and that he would take care of it all.
Nonetheless, when you found the corridors thoroughly trodden, you stepped outside. It was a clear night out, and you sat on the porch with your book in your lap.
Reading through the passages in the dim twilight as you waited.
You were on the final chapter now.
“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion.
Hearken, o’ mortal. In another story from the deep, the darkness, I entrust your ears with the legend of the Nanami mansion.
Hundred of years old. It stands still, braving the storms and the times, a relic of a past that never changes. And shall never change. Not as long as the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of its past, they say that the very walls of the house are infused with a force unknown.
Or so they say.
No mortal soul can say with utmost certainty when the mansion was built, nor by who, nor for what purpose. Only that the line of its masters has been both gruesome and bloody; history claims that what had once been impassioned family feuds over ownership quickly turned into a family heirloom that no pawn shop would accept.
No soul wished to be the master of a demon.”
A twig snaps.
And you gasp, looking up- though there was no one there. The light that flooded in from the mansion revealed no one outside, and so, shaking, you kept on reading.
The mechanic still wasn’t here.
“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.
Though one cannot say for certain the dark forces that envelop the house, it is what resides inside that is sure to catch the interest of a demonologist such as you and I.
A demon.
They say that he - or, at least, he who takes the shape of a man - runs the household as if its masters still occupy its decadent bones. As if its masters weren’t taken by the very force that now cleans the windows, and grows pretty flowers in the mansion’s garden. As if its masters still live.
Still linger.
But do not be fooled, dear reader, the only thing that lingers in this household is the demon himself. His smile gentle. His face kindly. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that those of mortal desires, like us, are disarmed by the handsome face he uses to mask his bloodthirst. And he has snuffed the mansion of anything that makes this house a home.”
Someone was watching you.
Somehow, it didn’t feel human.
“One by one, it started with the other servants, centuries ago. Those who were lucky to flee their posts and tell the tale spoke of a shadow that haunted their every waking moment, of a fleeting presence that produced nail marks in the morning, or items in their chambers suddenly unravelled.
He was the model worker, unsusceptible.
And by the time the masters of the household realized, it was far too late for their mortal souls. The servants had disappeared, the livestock had fallen to plague, and the only residents of the mansion were them. And him.”
Someone was waiting.
You knew it didn’t feel human.
“There need not be much speculation on the fates of the owners in the house at the time, after which there was a scramble to pawn the mansion by living relatives.
Though, by that point, rumors of the mansion’s more supernatural occurrences were already beginning to fester, and the effort was futile.
And though the mansion stands lonely now, never think that it is abandoned, o’ mortal. Perhaps you shall find that the chandeliers are always lit, and the beds are made. Dinners at the mansion are lavish and a-plenty. All of this can be given credit to the demon that runs it, of course.”
You stand up.
The mechanic was countless hours past when he was supposed to come, and you guessed he wouldn’t be making it today, either. Perhaps something more urgent had come up. Your feet step backwards- but something stops you, as if an invisible force. And without taking your eyes away from the page, you step forwards.
“Why this ancient creature torments the mortals that reside in the mansion, yet takes such meticulous care of it is a question unanswered to us. Perhaps we may never know.
Though some whispers claim that the rightful owner isn’t any lord or ladyship or bastard heir. No, not at all. It is - and brace yourselves for this, dear reader - none other than the demon himself.”
Forwards.
“Of course, this is only one theory put forth by demonologists. But as the rightful heir to the estate, the demon takes his time finishing off the foolish mortals that believe that it is theirs to claim. When, in actuality, you are stepping into the very abode of the creature. And no one - no one - has lasted longer than six days in its abode.
A creature that cannot ache. A creature that cannot love.”
Forwards.
“And he will always have his door open to the ignorant that walk in. Into what one may think is a heaven named after his very self.”
You stop.
“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”
The book drops from your hands.
A scream in your throat, you’re realizing that you’d walked yourself - almost in a trance - right up to the shrub-covered door to the basement. The very same one that Nanami had nudged you away from last time.
Nanami…a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know what to think.
Almost as if it will provide you the answers, you reach out and twist the basement door handle. It creaks out in agony as it opens, and you almost have half the mind to run away right then, right now.
But you’re no quitter.
In nothing but the pale moonlight, you step inside the basement and make your way down its narrow stairway. They were made of metal, biting through the soles of your slips with each step. You’re squinting your eyes in the darkness, hands reached out in front of you like you’d find something.
And then—
And then, right as you reach the landing of the staircase, you step in something wet.
It almost felt like a puddle after rain. Though the liquid stuck to your slippers, thicker than that. And as you raised your feet, it created a hollow squelch; the viscous sap looked much darker than water was supposed to be.
You gasp. It can’t be-
Lightning strikes.
Just a snapshot of light. Like someone had taken a photograph and burned it into your retinas.
In that split-second, you saw that what you’d thought was a puddle of water wasn’t really water at all. It was red. It was thick.
And it was leading a pathway all the way down to a body in the middle of the basement.
Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.
The mechanic lay dead on the basement floor. For how long, you weren’t quite sure.
With a scream, you almost slip on the blood as you sprint upstairs. Running out into the pouring rain outside - if you’d been guided in a daze to the massacre, then your brain was working in overdrive to guide you out.
Slippers squelching. Eyes stinging with rain. You couldn’t even see where you were going, and it reminded you of the night you arrived here.
Yet, you’ll always find the mansion - always. And in almost no time (though it felt like eons to your poor, shivering body), you’re running inside the mansion and slamming! the front door shut.
Body pushed against the door. Lungs heaving. You gulp.
With your eyes downturned, your watch the rich carpet beneath your feet drench with beads of water. Rusted water. Blood.
Fuck.
You had to get out of here right now.
Just as soon as the thought has struck your brain, the candles go out. Every. Single. One of them. Startled, you’re whipping around and trying to open the door- bang! bang! bang! It only rattles underneath your hands, firmly shut with unseen bolts and padlocks that you wouldn’t have been able to open no matter what.
And it’s only with the thin glow of the moonlight that you can move your urgent body, one step after the other. Jerky, as if you have to force yourself to do it.
As if you have to fight against some outside force to do so.
You knew that no matter where you went inside the mansion, Nanami would be able to find you. What if you—the balcony.
You gasp, and try to tamper the thought down as swiftly as it had formed.
Without a second of lingering any further, your feet dart you up the sprawling staircase. Spirals. Heart thundering, feet thudding, and your gasps laborious as you ran towards the bedroom that he had oh-so-graciously given to you.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
The complete opposite of your own, follow you the closer you get to it. Seeing that gleaming wooden door wink at you from the end of the hallway, like an old friend.
Until, finally, you’re throwing open the door and running inside-
“My lady.”
You howl in terror and it’s swallowed up by the sudden crashing of the storm outside. You hadn’t just raced into your room- you’d ended up bumping into none other than Nanami Kento’s firm, toned chest.
Carefully looping his arms around you.
“You’re-” You hiss, stepping backwards. “You’re a-”
“Yes.”
And then suddenly he’s behind you. Caging you inside the room, with no possibility of running back where you’d come from.
He looms, larger than life. His shadow walking inside- “I can’t believe you’re a-” You stagger backwards, “So all this time-”
“All this time.” Nanami breathes out, even though you knew that his lungs didn’t need to work. Then he grins and oh- it’s the one thing that you could see completely clearly in the dimness of the night: his stark-white fangs, those crimson eyes, pupils like a snake’s.
They bore down at you, especially when your limp legs stumble- and Nanami’s right there to steady you. With his inhumanly strong arms capturing your waist, and his chest pressed to yours.
Oh.
That low voice of his buries deep within your eardrums, sensual. “And I’ve been waiting…” He practically purrs, and your thighs clench. “-so, so long for you, my lady.”
You feel shivers go down your spine when Nanami nuzzles his nose against your throat, “A- a long time- so you mean that-”
“Yes.”
“Am I an descendant to the owner of this house-”
“Yes.” He sighs out his answers, like it took everything in him. Like he was breathing life into you. And you can’t help but notice that the two of you have edged towards the bed now, and you slightly turn your head to look at the mirror on the wall. “And you don’t know how starved I have been, my lady.”
Only to find that Nanami’s reflection didn’t show up on it.
It looked as if you were standing by yourself, and the blond-haired man (demon, more like) only holds you tighter in response. He murmurs in your ear, “Though enlightening, that book of yours doesn’t hold much truth.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”
You shiver. Not only with coldness, not only with fear.
Something more akin to a carnal need, with him pressed up against you like this.
“Though, it was wrong about two things-” Nanami’s plump lips graze down the column of your throat, and you wonder whether he can sense the way you grow…wet. “-a demon can yearn, a demon can love.”
Oh.
One of his overlarge hands drag down your spine, fiddling with the ties of a dress that he’d tailored to your exact size. Perhaps centuries ago.
“And this demon has been waiting for centuries for your soul to return, my lady.”
Your arms tighten on his shoulders, and tender slip up to loop around his neck. “I’m here, Kento.” Your body is boneless in his hold, and he holds you to him like he wants you to be of one soul.
.
.
.
There’s a sodden squeeeeelch as he’s lightly tuggin’ those cute panties of yours aside- how could you even walk around with something so sweet on you?
Nanami feels his oh-so-famished tastebuds start to water at the sight of your pretty, pretty cunt. Just a thin line of drool makin’ its way down the side of his stern lips, mirroring the way that your tight hole was weeping out.
He rubs his glove-clad thumb down the front of your glistening folds, and you whimper at the scratch of its smooth texture. “Have you ever done something like this before, my lady?”
With a mewl, you nod.
And you can’t help but notice the way that Nanami’s jaw clenches. “I see.” And there’s an inkling of something dark in his tone that you can’t quite pinpoint right now, roverin’ his mean fingerpads just over where your poor clit was. “And, forgive me if this is too forward, but have you ever fully enjoyed something like this before, my lady?”
“Well-” You try to keep your tone even, bucking off the bed. You were all sprawled out with only your drenched panties on, and Nanami Kento was on his knees by the foot of the bed.
On his knees for you.
His lips twitched impatiently, a sort of hunger in his eyes the longer he had to watch your needy pussy cling onto nothing. Continuing, “Well, I’ve liked it before with other people but-”
“Yes, my lady?”
And as you finish off, you slightly duck your head in shame. Whispering the words out (though you knew he’d hear with his demonic senses anyways). “But none of them have ever made me…cum before. I can reach it by myself but with other people- you know.”
“I understand.” You peer up to see the way that Nanami stares kindly at you. Something understanding in his eyes. Something…primal.
And your cunt starts to throb even more once he reaches his dominant right hand up to his mouth, then proceeding to bite down on the edge of his glove, and pull it off with his tongue. So unintentionally attractive. “Then, kindly allow me.”
In a split-second, his thick fingertip is probin’ between your pussylips.
Feeling the hotness of you clenching ‘round him and he groans- “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, madam?” Just the slightest hitch in his tone as he’s then sinking in with a slooooooppy slurp. The kind that leaves your ears ringing and your mouth dropping with each scouring inch he eases in.
Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his tender girth poking your insides. “O-oh my god.” Bucking your hips even deeper into his touch- “How does it feel so good already?”
“Oh, is that so–?” Nanami’s blond lashes flutter in amusement, “But you haven’t felt anything yet, my lady. Won’t you just raise your hips for me-” He guides you, and you’re squirming down his lengthy digits. “-yes, yes. Just like that, keep taking it all, alright?”
“I am I am-” Sobbing.
And you don’t know where you’re bawling more from - your swollen lips on your face, or the ones down below. The ones that he was striking viciously with his mountainous knuckles, every time he thrusted to let the long, solid inches of his finger delve inside.
Inside and inside.
Pushin’ in- he was just so eager to plunge himself inside.
Until the very forefront of his knuckles smacked your pussylips, and Nanami’s ruthlessly pressing his ring finger against your outer cunt. Smooch-smooch-smooching the very round tip of his ring finger against your pulsing clit, until he’s trying to fit that inside, too.
“Easy does it.” Nanami hisses, blond brows furrowing. Beads of sweat start decorating his forehead as he concentrates. “Easy- eeeeeasy. You can take it, my lady.”
And if you thought that the stretch of one of his fingers was enough to drive you wild, then you weren’t ready for two. “Oh my- fuck. You’re so mean.” You whine, holding onto his other gloved hand. Nanami has his fingers romantically intertwined with yours, and you were just clawing at his wrist there.
The demon raises a brow - devilish. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You rush to blurt out, your hips startin’ to gyrate. It took you a few vulgar strokes to get used to the size of him stretchin’ out your tiniest hidden nooks and crannies open - you swear that Nanami’s fingers were larger than normal. Scouring oh-so-deeply inside. “No no no- keep going. Ngh, you’re a-almost there.”
“Mmm, am I?” His lip curls, “And I wonder if ah- ‘there’ would feel even better with three fingers, hm?”
“O-oh…”
“That’s all you have to say, madam?” Nanami genuinely questions, though there’s a certain waver in his voice that lets you know he was teasing you. He was making your honeyed cunt grow even wetter with how Nanami Kento, of all beings, was being mean to you.
And with a few more slashing strokes, he’s fully opened up the clingy channel of your walls- fuck, he couldn’t even reel his two fingers back without your needy pussy trying to gulp him back up again.
Then with a sudden, soaked squelch you’re feeling a third of his fingertips kiss your tight hole. Tapping just a few times before he instantly presses down on your clit and makes you gasp- “Oh, fuck.”
The perfect moment for Nanami to shove his extended digit inside. All three of them expanding and contracting, scissoring a few times to engrave the crowned edges of his fingers against your most tender spots. “There-” Nanami hisses, between clenched teeth. “There there there-”
You’re suddenly seeing white- why?
Because on that fourth bludgeon of his, Nanami’s easily locating your g-spot to pummel.
“-you’re taking it all so well, my lady. S’like you’re made f’me…heh.”
“Shit-” Only blubbering and panting, he’s hittin’ your favorite spot so hard that your vision starts to blue - and you don’t know whether it’s because of tears or the sheer amount of white-hot pleasure that he’s making run through your body. “Shit shit shit shit- oh. Right there, keep going, Kento.”
Yet another smack! to that gooey bundle of nerves—“Ohhh, how I love when you call me that, madam.” Hard.
Push after push after push, and he’s spreading his prying tips so open- letting the doughy edges catch on the crevices of your g-spot. Meanly caressing.
Even though he’s speeding up, slick dripping down the sides of his overworking wrists like a faucet, you don’t think he misses that lewd target of his even a single time. Push after push after push. Dizzy with the force, you look up n’ find that Nanami’s slitted pupils were glowing.
He was using his demonic powers to perfectly angle the strikes of his fingerpads against your sweetest, sultriest spot. Stickin’ straight against your nerves, you had absolutely no chance of a breather when he was using some sort of x-ray vision to keep your pussy captive.
“Captive?” Nanami reads your thoughts, “Madam, I fear that this isn’t even- hah, half of my speed. Would you like me to accelerate?”
And he does.
And you’re feeling so much bliss at the moment that you can’t stop yourself from anchoring your feet onto the mattress and pushing off- unsure whether you wanted to help meet his cadence or run away—
“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”
His husky baritone breaks through your hazy thoughts- and before you know it, Nanami’s free hand untangles from yours to grip the sides of your neck n’ tug you right back.
Slapping that cutely sensitive front of your pussy with his knuckles, the demon chuckles darkly as you squirm at the pleasure. “You don’t think you can run away from me, can you, my silly lady?” With a growl, he tightens his restraint on your throat and makes you wince at the lack of oxygen. “You can’t. You won’t.”
And with that, Nanami cranes his watering mouth down to kiss the insides of your thighs. Letting the syrupy-sweet sheen of your slick coat his chin, “I’ve waited for you for centuries, and I’ll wait for you centuries more. I’ll find you.” Tightening. “Don’t think of running, madam.”
“Won’t- won’t-” You squeal out, and through the blurry gaps of your vision you can see the way that Nanami’s salivating. The way that his lips edge towards your heated core, the way he looks like he’s starving the longer he stares down at your cunt. “But, Kento, I do have one request of you.”
He snaps his head up immediately, “Anything, madam.”
“Could you please, ngh-” Your lips wobble desperately as you utter, and Nanami listens enraptured to every word. “-please put your mouth on me?”
And the stern man - a demon, living for centuries, unphased as he waited for your soul to meet him again - lets his mouth drop into a heated ‘oh’ as he registers. As he lets your words throb all the way at his furious cock.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Then you’re feeling the scorching hot sensation of his breath cloud your inner thighs, slithering upwards just in time with his mouth. “As you wish-” Nanami whispers, more to himself - more like a mantra.
“As you wish, as you wish, as you- mmm.” His mouth slips over the crevice of your cunt, and you’re feeling him perfectly slot his lips with your folds. He cracks his ravenous mouth open, “Allow me to- oh.”
Before immediately shutting himself up after the first candied taste of your cunt.
He lets his slicked tongue squeeze inside, gulping. “F-forgive me for not finishing my sentence. What I meant was, allow me to-” You buck, shoving him nose-deep between your sultry pussylips. “-oh, fuck. Forgive me, you just have me so…”
And he can’t even finish his sentence like this.
Because every time he’s parting those stern lips of his to speak, yet another glittery wad of your slick slips between that greedy maw of his. Pooling at the back of his mouth like some puddle, he can’t fucking get enough of your sweet, sweet juices. “It’s just- the taste of you. Shit. My lady, and who has allowed you to taste this sinful?” He hums. Guttural.
“Mmm, I dunno. Maybe you should’ve found out earlier-” You say, coyly. And raise your hips up to let his strong, velvety tongue pry inside n’ out. Almost fighting his fingers for space inside.
“Maybe you should’ve appeared earli- oh, fuck.” Shit, did he love hearing your gorgeous voice in conversation.
But if that meant breaking off his prolonged, open-mouthed kiss with your pussy then he wasn’t wasting any time. He was just slathering his maw widely agape, the flat tastebuds on top of his tongue moving back and forth and all over.
And spearheading just his honed tip inside, the crowned girth of his tongue snakes all the way to your innards. Jostling his own fingers-
You gasp when that only makes him skid his fingertips against your g-spot even further.
“I promise, I’ll be able to finish my sentences-” Nanami seethes. “-promise I’ll be able to, just with another- mmm, just another taste-” And his tongue lavishly licks up and down your slit. “-and another- oh, maybe one more-”
Again and again.
He’s trying to control himself but he can’t.
His sizzlin’ hot tastebuds probe their way inside, before ultimately pulling out and resting against your clit. Nanami counts your throbbing pulse one-two-three-four times before he starts fucking you with it again.
All three of his digits and his tongue. Swirlin’ in dizzying patterns around and around and drawing a cute heart on top of your nub. Followed right up by his silvery initials—‘N.K.’
You’re shivering, curling the tips of your toes as the fatness of his tongue rolls over your clit. Again and again. And his fingers are just merciless- digging three slender circumferences against the side of your walls, feeling that if he could thrust even deeper to hit the side of your cervix then he would have ages ago. In fact…
“Wh-what are you-” You jump your upper half off of the springy sheets - it was as if your wet dream was coming to life. Nanami was elongating the tendrils of his fingers with supernatural powers, slipping every thorough inch even deeper. “Oh my god- ngh, now that’s just unfair-”
“And yet, I’m not the one that thought of it.” He snickers, plunging his digits further. And further and further.
So deep, in fact, that you think you can feel his slimy, slick-glazed tips all the way near the back of your throat. Stabbing in thorough thrashes, you huff. “And yet- who’s the one that’s, mmm, pussydrunk, hm?”
“No- no no no, I’m not pussydrunk, madam.” Nanami insists, “Not at all. This is just a slight affliction that I- mmpf.”
You clench ‘round his fingers and that only makes him jerk his face even deeper- thank goodness he didn’t have to fucking breathe, because he was spending all his time swabbin’ away. Using the hand he still had on your throat, he pulls you in incredibly. “It’s not that m’pussydrunk—” Slurring his damn words. “-it’s just that…”
“Mhm—?”
You’re so wet by now that you begin to gush down his face. And Nanami didn’t have blood running through his veins, of course, but you should still feel his cheekbones burn with heat.
You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.
You’d made him gurgle on the slippery wads of your slick.
So completely pussydrunk that the thought of you realizing he was so- and taking your treacly cunt away made him glue his lips to your clit with a slight cry. A slight whimper—“D-don’t take this pretty pussy away from me.” His hand lifts off of your neck to hold onto your thighs, tugging. “Please?”
And as if to prove his point - to prove his desperation - the roverin’ tip of Nanami’s tongue moves even harder against your pussy.
Even faster.
And his scouring fingerpads probe in so deep that you throw your head back with a moan. Those wriggling tips filling up your every orifice, “Yes-” You weave your fingers into his unruly golden locks. “M’not gonna, Kento-” Gasping. “M’not gonna take myself away s-so you don’t have to- oh.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Just so rough with it. “Thank you- thank you- thank you-”
You swear he’s bruising at the battered innards of your walls, and he’s leaving nail marks for daaaaays upon your thighs. Battling with his own lecherous fingers. Moving his lush tastebuds again and again and again-
“Thank you for lettin’ me taste such a sweet, sweet pussy, madam.” Nanami scorches out against your cunt, slobbering all down it. “Thank you for letting ‘er- ngh, cum all down my tongue.”
“C-cum?” You lift your dazed head at his pussydrunk babbling - only to find that it wasn’t just babbling, after all.
Because Nanami’s honed abilities meant that he could sense when the zapping fireworks at the pit of your stomach grew, he could fucking smell the honeyed fragrance of your cunt growing close. And, sure as day, with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re falling apart on his fingers and his mouth.
Your back arching you even closer against his nuzzlin’ nose, you cry out as your high zaps right through you. “It feels so good- oh, Kento. Oh my g-god.”
“Mmm, the opposite, my lady.” Nanami chuckles, fucking you through every peak of your high- you should have expected that he has a sixth sense for it. And with the soaring peaks of your orgasm, Nanami mazes his fingertips to directly hit your g-spot.
So good.
You’re drooling through your entire high stupidly, your eyes watering through the sensitive pangs of pleasure. Tuggin’ on Nanami’s clammy scalp to pull him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to let himself be moved. To be ridden.
Long, sloppy drag of his tongue making you arch your back. “Sh-shut up-” Mewling out, you let yourself be wrung dry of the waves of pleasure.
“As you wish, madam.”
And he dutifully listens, there for only your euphoria. To which you respond by elongating your high by grinding down on his face—allll the way from the point of his handsome chin to the tip of his straight nose. “Shit-” You whimper, “Shit shit shit- never felt so good. Never felt like this.”
Nanami groans ‘round your clit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy.
“M’serious-” You prattle out, your movements eventually slowing. That might just have been the best orgasm of your entire life - you were never going to be the same. “It just felt so good, Kento…wait, you’re not- ngh, done?”
He only shakes his head.
He only lets his slitherin’ tongue lap and lap at the teary crevice of your pussy.
With every lick, you’re feeling your body go into overdrive. Heat flaring. Heart racing. You absolutely thrash against the damp sheets of the bed as he continues- like you’d never even reached your high.
Just plap after plap after plap of his knuckles against your tender outer pussy- and you start to wonder whether it doesn’t hurt for him. Whether his wrist doesn’t sting. Whether his mouth wasn’t swollen n’ rubbed raw on your drippin’ wet pussy, “Mmm, told me to shut up and make you feel good, didn’t you, madam?” You weren’t entirely sure that that was what you said, verbatim.
Yet you’re too gone on his silvery tastebuds to bite back anything now. “Y-yes…?”
“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”
He’s overstimulating you even more. Thrusting his tongue between those sopping wet lips of yours to poke at your throbbing g-spot, you swear he’s able to elongate his wet muscle even further.
Slashing against your most tender spots-
“Sh-shit- but m’so sensitive.” Whining out, you half-heartedly attempt to tug him off of your pussy- but it was as if Nanami was plastered to your wettened lips. “I don’t even know if I can cum so soon again, Kento.”
He slightly raises his head - not enough to stop his drivelling mouth, of course - and raises a blond brow. “You don’t know, my lady?”
You shake your head.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
And with that said, he’s fingering you to make a point. Staring at the writhing expressions on your face every time Nanami’s digits plunged inside, they hit the near-back of your pussy with such slurping sounds.
Hit after hit. Teasingly kissin’ against the throbbing spot of your nerves, and that’s when you can feel the fireworks start up again in the pit of your stomach once more-
And that’s when Nanami can sense it.
Smell it.
Taste it- fuck, it was as if you became even sweeter on his tongue any time you were nearing your high. And he doesn’t say a single word - doesn’t waste the time to - only thrashing and thrashing, he hits the bruised area of your g-spot and watches as you fall apart once more.
Pleasure zipping through your body.
Toes curling.
Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your mattress was all but drenched with the moisture.
“Oh my god-” You’re all but limp by your second orgasm, letting it wrack your body mercilessly. “You were right-” Your breath hitches. “-ngh, m’cumming again, Kento. C-cumming—”
“Mmm, I know, madam.” Nanami grins, and you can feel it form against the tender folds of your pussy. Branding itself there. “I did that.”
He was mean.
You buck and you buck and you buck as he licks every crevice of your insides, and once he was done fucking you well n’ proper through your other high- the slicked tip of Nanami’s tongue slurps back in once again. As if to do it all over again.
He feels you clench ‘round him urgently, “A-again?” You ask, with a weepy tremble in your voice.
“Mmm, don’t think you can do it a third time?” Nanami gutturally groans out, “D’you wanna find- ngh, find out, hm?”
“Actually…” And he hangs onto your every word.
Your jittery fingers intertwine with his polished hair, tugging. Continuing where you left off, “I was thinking that m’ready for something else.” He looks on in something that almost looks like disbelief - desperation. As if he couldn’t believe that these words were really spilling out of your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, Kento.”
And something in him seems to…snap.
“A-as you wish, my lady.”
He bows to you, right then and there.
In practically no time - though, to Nanami who’d been waiting for centuries, it only felt like centuries more - you’re being pushed back on the mattress until your head softly nudges the headboard. Nanami heaves himself up on the bed.
And you can’t help but notice that for someone who always looked so prim and put-together, he looked absolutely gone.
Hair sticking up in multiple angles. Eyes half-lidded and drunk. Slick dribbling down the sides of his mouth and down his prominent Adam’s apple. It drops from his fangs, which have now elongated. And lecherously down the front of his suit, which was a darker color than it usually was- drenched in heaps of your mess. In heaps of his mess.
In quick, severe movements, Nanami takes his suit off. So fast and urgent that you can hear the whooshing sounds of the fabric attempting not to rip at the seams.
When it gets to his pants, your eyes drop down - it’s been a feast for the eyes with every layer that Nanami peeled away. First it revealed those broad, milky shoulders of his. Then it revealed his plush pecs, his ladder-like abs.
Until finally you were following the line of his sparse happy trail down to his thick, aching cock. And fuck- a few profanities leave your mouth, he was the biggest size you’ve ever seen.
Just about nine inches (perhaps ten), with a plethora of winding veins that made it look as though he’d feel like he was twelve. A thick hilt. Ready balls. And the fat mushroom tip of his cock was glazed in a glittery topping of precum, pulsing primally as the cold air hit him. Dripping.
“Anything you wish, my lady.”
Shivering at his serious tone of voice, you reach a hand up to your own collar-
Only to be halted in your tracks by an invisible force.
Nanami had one hand raised, his power surging. “Allow me.” He says, and with a harsh brush of his animalistic fingernails, he’s tearing your dress into shreds. Like butter under his touch. Easily falling apart.
Your dress to your bra, they fall into tatters. And the only thing left is your slick-flooded panties that he scrapes a hand down to tear off, as well.
Before stopping- and seeming to think better of it- “Actually.” Nanami starts, “Keep them on.”
Oh, he was being filthy.
He was being mean.
And before your hazy brain can even register it, your legs are being flapped open. Kept firmly apart by two of his soft hands, feather-light, he pins them to the mattress and lets his slick cockhead slide juuuuust between your pussylips.
Back and forth, back and forth. The weight of his throbbing girth only makes you grow even wetter, and you’re gasping by the time he’s glazed himself up ‘nough to start pushing in.
“Now-” Nanami hisses, fangs grit. His heated body hunches over, and sweat beads down from his forehead to yours. The first feeling of your pussy clamping all ‘round his rock-hard length, and Nanami is a broken man. Slamming his hand down on the top of the mahogany headboard. “Now, madam, we’re gonna have to breathe, alright? Breathe with me now-”
You gasp- “Fuck- fuck, you’re so big-”
“Mhmmm—c’mon, my lady, breathe with me.” And though he was almost falling apart at the seams, he found the ability to string together coherent-enough sentences. Seething. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–”
In and out. In and out.
Just like the way that plush, pinkish tip of his was swabbin’ repeatedly- he was pumping out half-ruts, just trying to fit himself inside your pussy.
Opening you up wiiiidely—
You try to follow along with what he says, “Fuck-” But the stretch of the first inch of his cock fitting in was incredible, he was molding his way inwards. Shaping out your snug channel, “But how am I supposed to when you feel like- hah- that-”
“Awww, difficult, hm?” Nanami coos, empathetically. You nod, all teary-eyed and pretty taking his elongated shaft that he can’t help but let himself swell just a lil’ wider. Thicker.
You’re taking this change in size with a moan.
And he ponders to himself for a few more strokes, getting used to the warmth of your cunt. Before humming like he’d just been struck with an epiphany- and soon enough, Nanami’s holding out his strong, vein-covered forearm in front of your line of vision.
Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”
Your eyes widen, “What?” But before you know it, you’re already making use of the demon’s sinful little solution - the next inch that he’s somehow mazing inside you, you’re sinking your teeth into the golden flesh of his forearm and taking it.
“Mmm, just like that.” He pants, squeeze-squeeze-squeeeezing his way past your puckered folds. The globular front of his cock kisses either side of your walls, pinpointing specks of pre everywhere his fingers had touched just moments earlier. “Take it- take it take it take it- sloooow and easy. You’re doing so well, my lady.”
Sensually, he’s managing to let your ravenous cunt swallow up his inches.
And your sobs hitch after every stroke, it just felt like his fleshy tip was gracing your very lungs. You straddle his slim waist- tugging. “K-Kento…”
“Impatient, are we?” He raises a brow, “You have to take it easy, madam, if we want it to fit- breathe in. Breeeeathe in—”
And every time you did, he was shovelling in a few more inches. But the thing about Nanami Kento is that he made sure he tended to your every need; playfully rolling his thumb over your clit as he pumped himself into your hot core.
Which meant that he took things slow, took things at a pace that your feverishly needy mind was being infuriated by.
Without warning (though, later on, you’re sure that he’d sensed it coming and simply let you), you lock your ankles around his hips and pull-pull-pull him in.
And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.
Bottoming out.
The headboard he’s holding onto cracks under the pressure.
You wanted him deep inside you. And Nanami can only respond by spitting out a line of swears that hits you in a scorching breeze, his face twisting into something of pure ecstasy. “O-oh.” Nanami’s voice stutters. Nanami’s voice cracks. “Ohhh, you shouldn’t have done that, my lady.”
And without further ado, he’s fucking you like a madman.
“Wanted to t-take it easy- you shouldn’t have done that-” He manages to spit out. Body shivering. His cock throbbing angrily right at the spongy platform of your cervix. “You r-really really…” Dazed, slightly, like his body was moving in water, he unhooks his palm from the now-splintered headboard. Then he throws those cute legs of yours over his deltoids.
Letting them lock firmly behind his sweaty neck, Nanami’s bending his ripped body doooooown. Folding you in half, too- you swear you’re hearing a few of your joints pop!
And Nanami’s only hazily gliding his palm down your limbs, a soothing coldness overcoming them. No broken bones on his watch (even if his body was moving before his mind right now). So there’s no excuse for why you can’t bend in half for him. No excuse for why he can’t press his sticky forehead to yours and drill his hips even harder.
No excuse for the way that rotund tip of his scrapes your cervix with a rapid thud! thud! thud! The tender curve of his ballsack strikes the front of your pussy all raw—
Your mouth waters with the impact, “Y-you’re reaching in so deep, ngh.” But of course he was: he had you manhandled until the caps of your knees hit your tits.
“Mmm, just how you like it- hm?” Nanami chuckles, though there’s a certain pleading tone in his voice. Those drunken, honeypool eyes of his are boring straight into yours, and he memorizes even the slightest expressions you’re making at the massage of his puffy cock. “It feels good? Feels great? Makin’ this pussy feels so- oh, loooovely like she deserves?”
“Yes-” You’re gasping, your throat hoarse at the feeling of his zig-zagged veins that just kept intruding into your deepest hidden crevices. “Yes yes yes yes- yes-”
Somehow, he always managed to find the area that your drippin’ wet cunt needed him the most. Just straightly heading his wet tip towards that spot, and pressing a thorough smooch that made you damn near scream into his mouth.
And it’s then that a sudden thought hits you.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Nanami echoes- fuck, you’d almost forgotten that he could read minds. And with those demonic powers of his, he was echoing out a certain cockdrunken idea that you had. “So you want to know whether I can use my extra vision to hit your g-spot with my, mmm, cock, huh?”
Restless, you nod.
“And you know what you need to- d-do to have me fulfill your wishes—right, madam?” Uttering out - stumbling though his words.
Shit, even he was affected by the idea.
The ends of his tight fingertips shivering as you finally unfasten your mouth to ask- “C-can you please- ngh, use your powers to hit my g-spot, Kento?” And when you flutter those teary lashes of yours for effect?
Fuck, you might as well just call him a dead man (he was too far gone on your gushing cunt to register the fact that he, technically, wasn’t living).
Because with a sudden, concentrated surrender of his hips- Nanami perfectly angles the blushin’ red end of his shaft. That lil’ divot on the very end streamed out precum that made you splosh around from the inside, “Breathe in.” He rasps, thumb flitting down to press on your clit. “Breathe- out-”
“Oh- oh my–” More like you’re squealing out at the rough jab of his cockhead. The demon’s eyes activate into something glowing when he perfectly targets your needy g-spot.
Snickering. “Breathe in.”
You breathe in.
“Breathe-”
This time, he doesn’t even finish his damn sentence before letting the slit of his shaft snag your sweetest spot. You had so many cute, clingy ridges inside that he loves to stretch out with his sheer girth- and one of them was right by your g-spot that Nanami just kept rubbing and rubbing and rubbing all over.
Wadding out a mess of his precum until your walls likely looked like cobwebs from the inside- “You don’t know what you’re- hah, doing t’me, little mortal.” The fatness of his thumb rolls over your clit, making you see stars. “Have no idea. No- oh, have n-no idea.”
His free hand holds your quivering jaw, turning your face up to look at him and only him.
“You’ve made a demon fall in love with you, my lady. Tut tut.”
You’re squirming in his hold- he was losing control over his body. Unraveling at the seams. Rutting like an animal. Even the smooches of his hardened cock left your insides all bruised n’ battered, swat-swat-swat.
“And not only that—” Nanami continues, in his slightly breathy tone. You half-wondered whether he even knew what he was babbling away- “Oh- not quite, madam. I do apologize.” He answers your unspoken question.
Your breath catches - so he was pussydrunk enough to simply be prattling away. Unthinking.
The spit-slicked edges of his mouth gluing against yours, his tone was absolutely shattered as he mutters into your open maw. “But you’ve made me fall in love with your- your pussy, too.”
As if in response, your dampened cunt lets out some of the most lecherous noises. And you huff out a teasing giggle, “You’re talking as if this is your- mmm, first time, Kento—”
But Nanami doesn’t laugh.
Nanami doesn’t do anything but look at you so-very-seriously.
“W-wait-” Realization starts dawning on you, and you can feel your heartbeaten quicken as it sets in. “Don’t tell me…it really is your first time.” He grins…and nods. “And earlier with your mouth, too- was that-”
“But of course, madam.” The demon breathes, thoroughly ruined on your sweet, sweet pussy. “I did say that I have been waiting- mmm, centuries for you, no?”
Oh, shit.
If this was what he was like when he was inexperienced, then you almost feared to wonder just how good he’d be when he was experienced - with none other than you, you’re imagining. And as if to prove his point, he plunges and plunges his thickened shaft into you.
The plump circumference of his tip fitting against where he was causing your g-spot to indent—hollowing out with his rotund end.
In time with each of his thrusts, Nanami’s fingers pinch your perky clit. You were throbbing with need for him, and his mean thumb drew out so many things right on top of where you were most sensitive.
Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.
You could feel the branding of his name stinging against your core, each movement of his fingerpads creating the sloppiest slurps. “Oh, please-” Whimpering, you rut against his glissading abs. “Please please please please-”
“You can’t just say ‘please’ with no- mmm, command.” He chuckles to himself, as if you were the cutest thing in the world. “You have to tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.”
“I want you…”
“Yes—?”
And to utter these very words, you’re dragging him in closer. Touch burning. His breath laborious. You’re pulling Nanami in reeeeeal close and letting his straight nosebridge graze yours, lips tenderly touching yours. “Will you be cumming inside, Kento?”
He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “I shall do so as you wish. But first, don’t you know that you must give a demon permission to- take- a part of you?”
“So you can’t cum inside until I say the word?” You blink, a strange zap of power running through your body.
“That is so, madam.”
And oh- he’s pounding you into the aged bedsprings like he was trying to pound the words out of you. Thumb becoming frenzied on your clit, simply driving you wild. “I see- I- oh, ngh- I see-” A smirk stretches your lips, “And do you want to cum inside, Kento?”
“Not if you don’t wish for me to-” But just then, your cutely heart-shaped insides clench—and Nanami’s cutting himself off with a few rough swears. “Oh, f-fuck- yes.”
As you try to catch your breath, he’s completely losing his.
Again and again and again.
The lines of his veins throb n’ plaster against every ridge inside your velvety walls- “Yes, I do-” From the back of his throat, constant groans wrench. “I do I do I- do-” And each one was punctuated with the most probing jackhammers of his. “Oh, how badly I want to cum inside you.”
Before you can respond, his free hand drags down the front of your stomach. And he rests it easily where that lil’ bulge of his cockhead was thudding into your cervix.
“I need it. I desire it- I desire to stuff you full of my cum right h-here.” And then he presses down to put force on where his cylindrical length was tunneling. “I desire to see you all swollen with my seed, having taken so much that it has no place to go other than to drip onto the sheets.”
You’re squealing, feeling the world spin around you. “Oh- fuck. Please, m’not gonna last long-”
“I desire to feel every wad of cum of mine as I fuck you.” He gruffs out, “I desire to bind you to me forever-” Nanami leans in closer, as if he was whispering a secret to you. “-to let myself be truly yours. For eternity, this time.”
Sounding so pained.
“Let me cum inside, my lady-” He begs now. “I-inside. Let me cum inside, let me cum inside- please.”
“Yes- yes, I want it.” You crash your lips against his, feeling his fangs nip against your lower lip. “You can cum inside, Kento.”
And then with a final few thrusts, you’re exploding into your high.
So powerful that it results in your eyes clenching shut, white behind your vision. Back arching into his chest. You could hear the thundering of your pulse in your eardrums, right along with the husky, attractive groan of your name that Nanami lets off before he, too, finishes.
And you’re feeling it before you’re registering it.
That sultry splash! of something hot and wadded hitting the back of your pussy. It trickles all the way in lines down your cervix, and then ends up overflowing in your snug channel.
“Oh- oh, you’re really taking it.” Nanami’s hand presses down on your front, eyes activating. “Look at you—swallowing up every single drop. This pretty pussy of yours was- ngh, hungry, hm?”
“Shit, you’re so filthy.” You whine, clawing down his muscular back. And Nanami Kento only smiles like he knew it was true.
After all, he was feeling everything that he’d described earlier - the sploshing of webbed-up seed inside you, the way it glissaded down his shaft. Every line of his veins was coated in ivory sap, and the demon was fucking in each gluey wad inside you.
Your own high is overtaken by his - and you don’t know what else you expected: Nanami was cumming like he hadn’t in centuries.
Just bucketloads of cum that left your mind all stupidly hazy. With each quiver of your own pleasure, you could feel the clingy mess slipping out of your hole. It created this intricate white ring ‘round Nanami’s hilt that he’s thumbing away with a smile.
Pushing dooooooown- “S’taken.” Nanami breathes, somewhat in awe as he gazed down adoringly at where your womb was. With those powerful eyes of his. “Fuck yes, s’taken, my lady. I’m so proud of you.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes.”
“F-fuck.”
He watches as that white hot mess dribbles down his fingerpads, and he says—“Stick out your tongue, madam?”
Slightly befuddled in the aftermath of your high - nothing more than a few sensitive twinges at the pit of your stomach by now, oh, he’d dragged it out so perfectly with his ready cock - you do as he says. And in a few sultry seconds, Nanami has his cum-glazed thumb sticking in his own mouth. Said mouth of his edging even closer to yours to spit.
And then he kisses you fully.
You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.
And it’s only then that you start to feel a strange rush go down your skin. It’s only then that you feel atoms stop in attention around your body, where yours met his.
So caught up in the feeling, you barely even notice when Nanami finishes riding out his own high. Each n’ every ounce of his sap pushed thoroughly into your deepest innards. And he was so proud of it- no, you’re too caught up in the fact that you knew that.
In that fact that you knew he was proud.
You could sense it.
You could remember it: fragments of a time spent in this very mansion, that didn’t include the last few days. A flourishing garden where you stole kisses. Pale blond hair in the darkness of this very bedroom. The screams of the scullery as they found out. Blood. A new life. You remembered it - not all, it came to you slowly.
With a gasp, you’re pulling back to look at your hands; they looked as normal as always, except for a strange tingle of…something that left you feeling like you could smash this very bed frame if you tried to.
Wait- you turn your head to the mirror on the wall, only to find that…nothing was there. Nothing but the room, in all its emptiness.
For mirrors don’t reflect demons.
“You’ve made me a-” You gulp, and he purrs in affirmation. “-a demon.”
“I’ve contracted us for life, my lady.” Nanami responds, “Look here.”
He taps his index down on the spot where his palm had been plastered mere moments ago, where he was feeling for his cum sprayin’ out into your womb. And as you look down, you can see that your skin was emblazoned with a glowing purple mark of supernatural sorts. Swirling spirals and hearts: you were branded.
“And here.”
You raise your eyes to where Nanami had stuck his tongue out now- and there it was. A matching tattoo (symbol? Branding?) that matched the one you had, right in the middle of his tastebuds.
Two peas in a pod.
Two demons in a mansion.
You could feel the exact moment that Nanami’s cock throbbed at the fact that you were growing even wetter at the notion - a soul that was formerly yours, shared now, for eternity. And you’d spend it all with this handsome man, in a mansion that would never crumble.
“I can smell it on you—” Nanami snarls, canines showing as his lips twist into a feral snarl. He gives another squelching thrust, “We’re going to have a looooong few centuries to make up for, my lady. Mistress of the house.”
.
.
.
“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion. (Cont’d)
And yet, the tale of the scorned heir is only one theory seeking to explain the existence of this deeply demonic yet tragic figure of Nanami Kento.
I think you will find, dear reader, that this author in particular is quite inclined to believe a much lesser-known theory. It is one slightly less blood-curdling, though with no less a flare of drama: the theory of the scorned lover.
Though most records of interviews with the original servants that served the Nanami Mansions have been lost to time, what few have been procured did speak of what has been aforementioned in this chapter. Yet, it is in the footnotes that the most jarring pieces of information start to reveal themselves.
They speak of a rather different character to the demon, Nanami Kento. A demonic yet agreeable character: sharp, sensible, no less human (or at least acted so) than the other humans that it worked alongside, keeping the mansion shining like a crown jewel.
And perhaps most representative of the demon’s humanity of all, was the way in which he fell - and quite hopelessly, it is said by one worker - for the daughter of the mansion’s master. Her name— And her wits, her laugh, her kindness seemed to have enraptured this demon. And it makes us think that, perhaps, even the most hellish creatures of all are asinine in the face of love.
Love makes a fool of us all.
And yet, there is a reason that demons do not fall in love.
For once this secret dalliance was discovered by the household, it is said that the master was enraged - till one could not tell the difference between human and demon. In the owner’s fitful anger, some say that the dishonored daughter was made a sacrifice of, others justify that she was discarded from the mansion, never to be seen again.
Whatever the result of misplaced love (perhaps it was not misplaced, after all, who are we, as mortals, to judge?), the demon had lost her.
And that loss manifested into grief, that grief manifested into anger. The once-proud stone pathway to the Nanami Mansions painted itself red, and it has not had a master since.
They say that Nanami Kento still roams the empty halls, and keeps the house a home, in wait of his lost lover.
As for the fate of them, only time will tell.
Do you believe in reincarnation, o’ mortal? For, demons certainly do. And if a soulless being could not love a mortal centuries ago, perhaps there is hope that her soul may find him once more. Whether by accident, or by chance, or by fate altogether. Demons always are quite stubborn.
And perhaps, this time, they may love one another as two souls who have ever loved one another should. As one.
This author, in particular, chooses to believe that their souls are already one. For there is a home for every lost soul, doors and arms wide open.”
—Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love by Sebastian Michaelis.
A/N. Was technically supposed to be posted last month but ah-
“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.
And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.
The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.
You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.
“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.
But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.
It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.
He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.
“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.
The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.
Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.
So, he tries.
He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.
No response.
He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”
Nothing.
Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”
Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.
As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.
His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours.
Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.
Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.
Not soft enough.
Not warm enough.
Not you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”
And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”
And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.
Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…” you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.
“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”
You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.”
“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”
Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your scent comforting him.
Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.
One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”
“Kento…”
“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”
Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”
He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest.
Nanami is silently crying.
His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.
You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”
Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your scent comforting him—just like his son does.
“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”
You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”
୨୧ — "Sweetheart, you really are such a desperate thing, aren't you?" Nanami murmurs, his thumb brushing away the tear that trickles down your cheek before leaning in to kiss you softly.
The ache inside you was almost unbearable- a desperate, clawing need that’s been building since the moment you heard he barely survived Shibuya… The relief that flooded through you when Shoko said he was coming home nearly brought you to your knees.
Now, sitting across his lap in his chair, you can hardly breathe with how badly you’ve missed him- the dampness between your legs a clear sign of how badly you need him... Every part of you trembling, embarrassed how you can't control the sob that slips between your lips against his as he presses his strong thigh between yours.
Your fingers trace the burns covering half his chest, the remnants of the cursed flames that nearly took him from you forever. Shoko said his left eye would never see again, the damage too severe. But you didn’t care. You didn’t give a damn about his half burned body or the new scars that map across him… Visible reminders of how close you came to losing him in Shibuya.
Pulling back just enough to see your face, Nanami’s remaining eye searches yours- the question obvious.
Are you sure you want this?
Your eyes meet his as you nod, your grip on him tightening as if afraid he'll slip away again… that somehow you're only dreaming and will wake up alone and brokenhearted- the answer clear.
Nanami’s smile was gentle but strained, a shadow of doubt crossing his good eye as he leans forward to place the softest kiss on the tip of your nose. His hands find their way to your hips, thumbs tracing small, soothing circles against you. His one hand’s movements are slightly stiffer, pulled tight from the burn damage.
"We should take it slow," his voice barely audible, "I don’t want to rush after-" He swallows hard, glancing down at his scarred chest, "…After everything… I’m not… I’m not the same man who left that morning. This body is..."
You can feel his hesitation, the way he tenses beneath you, and for the very first time you see shame in his eye- ashamed of what Shibuya had done to him. Half his body disfigured, twisted in pinks and reds- raw in some spots…
You find yourself slowly rolling your hips against him without thought, seeking closeness, seeking proof he’s really here before resting your forehead against his marred shoulder, "Don’t want slow," you murmur, "Want to feel everything, Kento. The ache from the stretch, the way you fill me, the drag of your cock-" You pause as his breath catches, a shudder running through his body at your neediness despite coming back to you looking the way he did... "The proof that it’s really you inside me."
His damaged hand trembles as it moves to cup your cheek, gently forcing you to look at him, "I can’t promise it’ll be perfect like befo-"
"I don’t want perfect," you whisper, grinding down harder against him, feeling him hardening despite his doubts, "I want you. Scars, limitations, all of it… Want every inch of you that survived and came back to me."
Nanami is silent for a moment, remains still for a heartbeat as he absorbs your words. His damaged fingers find the underside of your breast, "I can’t feel you the same," he admits, "but God, I want to try…"
Taking hold of your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck before lifting you as though you’re made of precious glass, the strength in his arms -even the one damaged by burns- a reminder of everything he is- your protector, your lover, your home.
The mattress dips beneath your weight as he lays you down with such tender care, "Look at me," he commands softly, hovering above you. And when your eyes meet his, he takes your hand in his scarred one and places it over his heart, "Feel that?"
He waits for you to nod- to say yes… For you to feel the thumping beneath your palm.
Your words catch in your throat, unable to speak, tears threatening to spill again as he continues- watching as his head dips to your neck, placing soft kisses there. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling your temple, and the heat of his breath caressing your cheek as he speaks, "Tell me, my love. Do you feel it?"
"Y-Yes." Your eyes flutter close for a moment, savoring the feeling of his heart beating against your palm.
"I’m here." he whispers, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to each fingertip as his other hand moves to the zipper of his trousers, "And I promise you that i'm not going anywhere ever again. This is where I belong. With you. Always."
tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ just some emotional damage via praise and love because i’m pretty sure nanami is not protected from that
nanami is brushing his teeth when you sidle up beside him in the mirror, stretch your arms overhead, and sigh like a sleepy cat.
“you’re very handsome, you know,” you murmur, voice low and scratchy with sleep.
he blinks at you through the mirror.
you blink back. grin.
“what was that?” he asks, mouth full of toothpaste foam.
“i said you’re handsome.”
he stares for one more second—and then leans over the sink and spits, lingering a second longer than necessary to keep his expression in check.
“why?”
“…why are you handsome?”
“no, why would you say that?”
you raise an eyebrow. “because it’s true?”
he rinses out his mouth like he’s trying to scrub the embarrassment off his tongue. “you can’t just—say things like that. in the morning. while i’m brushing my teeth.”
“i literally woke up and felt overcome with love for your stupid face.”
he covers his face with one hand.
“you don’t like being complimented while you’re… minty?”
he sighs. “i’m not prepared for this level of sincerity at 7am.”
“what is your preferred time for me to express how stupidly in love with you i am?”
“never,” he mutters. “or at least after coffee.”
you lean in, cheek against his bicep, watching him in the mirror as he rinses his toothbrush. “i like your laugh lines.”
“they’re wrinkles.”
“they’re hot.”
he drops the toothbrush. “stop.”
“you have excellent forearms, by the way.”
“what does that mean?”
“and your shoulders? criminal. you should be fined.” your hands fall off of them as he steps away to go get dressed.
“i’m leaving.”
“i’ll miss you desperately, lover:”
he stares at you from the doorway like he’s rethinking his entire identity. then, very slowly, he walks back over and takes your face in his hands.
“listen,” he says seriously. “you can’t just… emotionally ravage me before I’ve had a chance to emotionally armor myself.”
“that sounds like a you problem.”
“it is a me problem.”
you grin. “does it help if i say i’m proud of you and think you’re amazing and love the way you always fold the laundry just how i like?”
his expression crumples.
he buries his face in your neck.
“stop,” he says, muffled. “this is damaging.”
“do you need me to—”
“no. no more compliments. not until at least lunch.”
you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist. “deal. but at noon, i’m telling you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
he sighs against your skin. “i’ll prepare accordingly.”
† yo no te voy a decir que me lo gané con mi trabajo honrado. yo me lo gané a base de cogidas y no me da pena decirlo, pueblo — nanami kento
synopsis: despite people don’t have the best perception about you, since rumors’ been spreading throughout your career, fucking president kento has its benefits and it’s not your fault people can’t fuck their way up to the top.
content warning: reporter reader x president kento, reader says dumb shit you cannot even believe kento’s fucking her, but let’s pretend it makes sense, slutshaming, manhandling, degradation, spanking.
“well, recent rumors have been said about me and i want to use our program to clarify some stuff.” the papers in which your most juicy gossip was written down, now remain on the table. your forced smile showed your neat teeth, almost ready to rant. your co-workers, geto and satoru, were paying full attention of what you had to say. “there’s been recent rumors about how i got my house in the hamptons and i need to clarify that i bought it with the sweat and hard work this program has given me!”
“exactly,” geto agreed.
“yeah, if you could buy that house it was thanks to your hard work.” satoru added.
“it’s just not my fault you couldn’t get the same things as me. i’ve never stolen from anyone. i’m not ashamed to admit that if right now, my dear viewers, that if i’m where i am right now, was thanks to all the dicks i had to suck.” you stated proudly and geto and satoru agreed with every word you said.
after having talked shit about famous people, passing on reports that you asked the interns to modify them to be exaggerated in order to make the stars look bad, the program was finally out of air.
“that was fucked up, y/n.” geto said, rubbing pads around his temples, trying to assimilate what just had happened.
“yeah, i know, but fucking show is what this bitches want.” you argued, lighting a cigarette as you turned your back to your friends and added: “see you guys tomorrow.” you waved.
“going to your hamptons house, dear?” gojo teased playfully. fuck you wish they weren’t like this, and geto giggled, since the three of you knew what they meant.
“tsk, you’re literally the worst.”
you close the door behind you. he was already waiting, like a carnivore waiting for its prey, but this one is more civilized and he’s sitting on your couch (not to mention it rules the fucking country). even from afar, even with the dim light, you could see his already stiffen cock, making a bulge inside his pants. his legs are spread.
his grin, you can tell it’s wicked, whimsical. you understand that, you made him wait for so long, giving him enough time to think about all the things he can do to you.
“i’m so sorry, babe, traffic was a nightmare.” you soften your voice and give little hops with your shoes to get closer to him.
“how’s my lady doing?” as you accommodate yourself in one of his thighs, you rock your body and your hip can feel his engorged cock, gnawing and waiting to be released.
“fine, thank you, mr. president.” you tantalize him, arms around his neck. his aroma is mesmerizing, that expensive cologne that drove you crazy and then impregnated in your clothes.
his big hands surround your thigh, and your clit is starting to palpitate, knowing what’s going to happen next. you bite your lip and he notices right away.
“is it true that all of this house you buy it by yourself?” he asks, playing with the flesh of your legs, wanting to go further. however, he wanders in the same places, as if something holds him back.
“well, baby, you know that i cannot let everyone know you bought it. besides, it has taken me a lot of work.” you whisper to his ear and latch onto him.
your legs manage to open up, of course, he knows your dark intentions: open the legs so he can roam around into your crotch. nevertheless, he’s mad. despite how badly you wanted to save your “reputation” it hurts his ego being denied. he knows he can’t take revenge in public.
so he does it here, privately.
“you like to despise me, don’t you, precious?” his eyes examined you, as he savored with his tongue what he was going to say, “didn’t you say that sucking cock got you in the place you are right now.”
he lifted your skirt, toying your ass, barely clothed with thongs. then, a slap caught your ass off guard, jiggling. your voice gasped and mewled. and your clit was throbbing, praying for him to lose control.
he stands up and unbuckles his belt, releasing his pulsating, gnawing girth, finally able to breath. after that, you kneeled down, because you wanted to savour his fat, veiny cock, which was already having droplets of pre-cum.
your hands barely fill the thick shaft and staring at him deadly at your eyes. he loosened the collar of his shirt, as if the soft touch of your lips on the tip of cock makes his body simmer.
you lips wrap around and introduce it in your mouth. fuck, the way you manage to do it slowly... he knows it’s not because you can’t take it, it is because you love to tease him. you’re mocking him, claiming, bragging about all of the dicks you had to gobble.
so, he grabs your hair and starts thrust your mouth. your eyes close as you loosen your jaw and feel him going in and out.
when you finally separate, he made you lift your leg at the edge of the table that was next to the sofa, having a good sight of your cunt wide spread. he was so starved, desperate to demonstrate who was the one in charge, he just put aside the cloth that was covering your pussy and started ramming his cock inside of you.
“this is how you bought the house, don’t you sweetheart? boss was generous, didn’t he?” he hoarse to your ear, breathing heavily. he spanked your ass as his thrust, delved into your soft spot.
you mewled at his touch, at the way he was sundering his shaft, taking him so well, feeling the stretching so good, hitting your sweet spot.
“yeah.” your voice trembled and it extended to make it almost high-pitched.
“such a good slut, never taking from people who’s below her.” he gritted teeth.
“yeah, i’m such a good person.”you gulped and kept moaning.
he came inside you and you knew that satoru and geto will make fun of you.
dilf!kento thinks it's odd just how hot and bothered you get when he does the most mundane of things.
for example, he'll be getting dressed in the morning: hair mussed and eyes dark from the lack of sleep that parenthood brings. fingers working his belt through the loops in his slacks and fastening the buckle just to be startled by you, having leapt out of bed to drop to your knees before him and suck him off right there in the walk in closet.
or, later on, when he's cleaning up the kitchen after sending the kids off to school, and you walk in to find his sleeves rolled up, humming away to himself as he washes dishes in the sink. of course, the look on his face when he turns to find you already sat on the countertop and beckoning him over is as priceless as it is arousing.
or god forbid he starts paying bills. sitting at the dining table with papers scattered in front of him, pen held in his strong hand as those glasses of his slide down the bridge of his nose. god, he's so pretty when he's concentrated, working with numbers like a whore! he shouldn't be surprised when you weave your way between him and the papers to sit on his lap and start working at hooking him out of his pants. so you can sit on his cock and get your fill.
"keep acting like that, sir, and you're gonna be a daddy again."
he's gruff. tired. so fucking sexy. "i'm going over the credit card statement. did you spend five hundred dollars on—"
"mmm stop talking and fuck another baby into me, ken."
and, because you married the right man, a pair of strong arms are already hoisting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. "as you wish, love."
