men who keep their shirts on while getting off but it’s pulled up past their chest so they can bite down on the fabric deserve the world for that visual alone
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—10.4K, onlyfans!contentcreatorcouple!, vacation!, originalblackfem!reader, boyfriend!erenyeager, bubblyslightlybimbo!femreader, gymrat!eren, gymrat!femreader, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!eren, aggressive!eren, dominant!eren, gruff!eren, sweet!eren, submissive!eren, size kink!, pet names!baby!bunny!, sofa!sex, face slapping!, riding, doggy style, slightly aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming!, condomless sex, talks of relationship issues, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— happy belated birthday, dada. inspired by a twitter video i seen. it’ll be linked, nasties.
pt 4 of na na.
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˚ ⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏. ₎ა✮⋆˙𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚
DEEP, ROSY AND PINK. That was the only way to describe the intense flush of your freckled cheeks, startled by the tan of your skin that went from caramel to earthy brown in days of soaking love from the sun. Being here was a dream—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to wake up from. Not yet.
A vintage filter flickers to life, bathing the screen in golden St. Lucian sunlight that spills through the open balcony of your Mediterranean oasis. The space feels like a dream—terra-cotta tiles underfoot, cream-colored brick walls draped in ivy and trailing flowers, an indoor waterfall trickling softly in the background. The bedroom is an open sanctuary, sheer white curtains billowing around a wooden four-poster bed, its canopy draped lazily over rumpled white sheets.
And there, in the center of it all—him.
Lying sprawled on his back, deep in sleep, his massive frame takes up nearly the entire bed. Dark brown hair—almost black in the shadows, but warm bronze where the sun catches it—fans out across the pillow like spilled ink. The tattoos covering his arm and creeping up his neck stand out starkly against sun-kissed skin, muscular chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Even in rest, there’s something commanding about him—the natural scowl of his brows, the sharp cut of his jawline, to his full lips slightly parted.
You zoom in slowly, your voice a hushed, adoring whisper—
“Look at you… ‘So handsome.”
The camera lingers on his face—the faint freckles dusting his nose, his lashes brushing his cheeks, down to the stubborn set of his expression even in sleep. You bite back a giggle, leaning closer.
“Baby…?”
No response. Not even a twitch.
Another soft laugh escapes you as you adjust the frame, capturing the way morning light paints him in gold.
“Out cold,” you murmur, fondness dripping from every syllable.
The scene holds—just for a moment—before the camera shifts, panning over the tropical paradise outside, the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
A burgues script title card flashes:
My love letter to you.
The camera catches the delicate flicker of your French-tipped toes as you peel yourself from the bed—moving like a ghost to not disturb him. The lens follows your path through the sprawling villa, gliding over terracotta floors kissed by sunlight, past open-air archways draped in bougainvillea, until you find the perfect spot—a plush, low-slung sofa nestled between an indoor garden and the infinity pool’s edge.
You angle the camera carefully across from you, and there you are.
The sun has painted your skin richer—your freckles somehow more pronounced, scattered like constellations across your cheeks and nose. A faint pink tinge dusts the high points of your face—part sunburn, part blush from pure contentment. Your hair is a masterpiece—long, full French curl braids cascading over shoulders, blending seamlessly with loose ringlets that catch the light like spun gold. They frame your round face perfectly—accentuating full, arched brows, dark cat-like lashes, and lips so plush and pink they look perpetually bitten.
Your neon orange bikini top—streaked with deep pink swirls—clings to your heavy, voluptuous curves, the ruching at the sides straining just slightly from the weight of your breasts. An anklet and sandals in matching pink rest nearby, abandoned for comfort. Your wrists jingle with charm bracelets as you fold yourself onto the sofa, knees tucked under you like a daydream given human form.
You are sinful innocence incarnate—a doll with a devil’s smirk and an angel’s glow.
A delicate hand lifts, waving at the camera as your voice comes out smooth, sweet—yet laced with something deeper.
“Hi, babies. It’s…been a while.”
The camera drinks you in—this vision of sun-soaked serenity—before you finally take a breath and lean forward, ready to tell your story.
But first—a wicked little grin curls at the corner of your mouth.
“Let’s catch up.”
The vintage filter softens your features like a sun faded Polaroid as you tuck a loose curl behind your ear, exhaling with a wistful smile.
“So—You're probably wondering where we've been."
The lens lingers on your face—nostalgia flickering in your dark eyes as you glance past the camera, like you can still see the walls of your old New Orleans shotgun house behind it. That cozy, creole haven with its peeling paint and humming ceiling fans, where the scent of jasmine and Eren’s cooking curled through every room. Home.
“Six months changes things," you murmur, “And, well...life happened."
A breath.
“‘Ren’s meal prep business blew up."
The confession comes with a giggle, like even now it still feels surreal. The Seoul deal had landed like a lightning strike—some high-end Korean health conglomerate offering stupid money for exclusive rights to his keto chicken bowls and Creole-spiced shrimp packs.
“You saw the anniversary live, right? The one where—" You bite your lip,“—Yeah. Anyway. Two days later, they slid into his email with a contract thicker than his arm.”
But? The logistics were brutal. Endless flights between NOLA and Incheon, you both exhausted, missing each other achingly in the stretches between. You mimic Eren’s signature scowl, deepening your voice—
“'Either come with me or I’m burnin’ the passport, Bunny.'"
The move to Korea had been a whirlwind—thrilling at first. Neon-lit streets, steaming bowls of tteokbokki at 3AM, Eren’s hands possessive on your waist as he showed you his Seoul between meetings. But then...
Your smile falters.
“It got lonely."
No Sunday gumbo with your momma. No impromptu BBQs with your cousins spilling onto the porch. Just the two of you in a sleek high-rise, struggling with subway maps and missing the warmth of your people.
“We were happy, but—hollow?"
You press a hand to your sternum, like you can still feel the echo of it.
You then exhale softly, curling your fingers around the edge of the sofa as you confess, “We needed a break—And ‘Ren’s birthday was the perfect excuse to escape."
The waves crash lazily in the background as you tilt your head, sunlight catching the gold hoops in your ears.
“St. Lucia was his dream. Warm water, no schedules, no ’corporate meetings’—" You roll your eyes playfully, but the lightness doesn’t quite reach the tension in your shoulders.
Then, quieter—
“But...he hasn’t been handling twenty-nine the way I thought he would?”
You bite your lip, eyes flickering toward the bedroom where he still sleeps.
“He keeps saying shit like—" You deepen your voice into another gruff imitation of him, “'Damn, Bunny. I’m gettin’ old. Need to settle down before my knees give out.'"
You shake your head, “It’s not just jokes, though. He’s been different. Obsessing over timelines, talking about legacy.”
Your fingers trace idle patterns on your thigh, avoiding the camera’s gaze for a second.
“And then one night, he just—" You swallow hard, “…He said he wanted a baby.”
You curl into yourself slightly, arms wrapping around your middle as if bracing for impact.
“I mean...we always talked about it. But..." you shrug helplessly, "You guys know I don’t plan on doing this—" You gesture vaguely at the camera, “Once we’re married with kids. And I love that you guys have been with us through everything. But..."
A shaky breath.
“I never expected it to be now, you know?”
The air between you and the lens feels thick—charged with something unspoken. Then, abruptly, you straighten, blinking away the wetness in your eyes as a slow, secretive smile tugs at your lips.
“Before I bring myself to tears—well, just watch."
The burgues script appears again.
ST. LUCIA THROUGH YOUR EYES.
A montage flickers to life—each frame saturated with golden sunlight and laughter, the ocean breeze tangling in your hair as St. Lucia unfolds around you both like a dream.
The first day. ‘You in a sheer, plum wrap dress that clings to every curve, standing barefoot on the villa’s terrace as Eren’s hands slide around your waist from behind. His lips brush your shoulder—“My pretty fuckin’ Bunny,” before he nips at your earlobe, making you giggle and swat at him.
That night. A low-lit restaurant nestled right on the beach, lanterns casting a honeyed glow over your faces. You’re seated at a candlelit table, the ocean breeze tousling the loose waves of your dark hair. The camera catches you mid-laugh—a plunging white dress clinging to every dangerous curve of your body, the neckline dipping just low enough to tease the swell of your heavy tits.
You flash a mischievous grin at the lens, dragging your fingertip through the frosting of the miniature birthday cake the staff brought out—“For my birthday boy,” before sucking the sweetness off your finger with an exaggerated pop.
The camera pans to Eren.
Oh, God.
A crisp white button-up clings to his muscular frame like a second skin, his sleeves rolled up to expose those tattooed forearms. His dark hair is slicked back in a low bun—jawline sharp enough to cut glass—green eyes glinting with something between hunger and amusement as he watches you.
Without breaking eye contact with the camera, he leans in—dragging his tongue between your lips, stealing the last traces of frosting straight from your mouth.
You let out a breathy giggle, cheeks flushing as he pulls back with a smirk—“‘Shit tastes better on you."
The second week. A bustling street market. You wear a sage green crochet bikini top and high-waisted denim shorts, sandals dangling from one hand as Eren feeds you bites of spiced plantains off his fork. His thumb swipes sauce from your bottom lip, then slowly licks it off, eyes locked on yours while vendors wolf whistle in the background under your flushed squeaking for him to stop.
That afternoon? A lively, sun-drenched outdoor hair salon tucked under a canopy of palm leaves and strung with colorful beads that clink softly in the breeze. You’re perched on a low wooden stool, surrounded by four St. Lucian aunties—their hands moving in a hypnotic blur as they section, twist, and fold your thick, dark curls into an intricate masterpiece.
Eren’s deep chuckle rumbles behind the camera—“Look at my baby, lookin’ like prettier than the ocean.”
You go to stick your tongue out at him, but that’s when one of the women chides you gently in Kwéyòl—“Hold still, darling!”—before dissolving into warm laughter with the others. The rhythmic swish-swish of hair being braided fills the air, fingers tugging just enough to make you pout.
Another day. The rainforest. ‘You in a khaki mini-skirt and a tied-up tank, shrieking as your sandal slips on a mossy rock—only for Eren to catch you mid-fall, his biceps flexing as he hauls you upright with a growl.
“Watch ‘your feet, woman. You break an ankle, I’m carryin’ you everywhere from now on.”
That evening. A local elder—"Banana Man," as you dubbed him—grinned toothlessly as he guided Eren’s hands around a machete, teaching him to split a ripe banana stalk. Eren listens intently, nodding, repeating phrases in rough-but-earnest Creole while you beam beside him, fingers laced through his free hand in support.
And finally? Sunset. The beach. You in a flowy, butter-yellow sundress, bare feet sinking into warm sand as the Banana Man and another woman chuckles, handing you both each a piece of freshly-cut fruit.
Behind you, you hear the woman fussing at Eren in the same melodic dialect, “Ou pral koupe dwèt ou yo!,” You’ll chop your fingers off!—her tone exasperated but fond.
You bite back a giggle, still focused on your own fruit, not daring to glance over.
"Are you givin' her a hard time?" you call out, voice lilting with amusement.
Eren’s response is soft, almost too casual—
“Not at all, baby."
A pause. Then—
“…Might need some help from you, though."
You roll your eyes playfully, turning with a grin—
And the world stops.
Because there he is.
On one knee.
The machete abandoned beside him, replaced by a velvet box cradled in his trembling hands. His face—usually so composed, so controlled—is raw with emotion, eyes glistening under the sunset.
"Mwen vle ou pou tout rès vi mwen," he rasps—I want you for the rest of my life.
A sob tears from your throat before you can stop it. Your hands fly to your mouth, the piece of fruit tumbling forgotten into the sand as your knees nearly give out.
“Wi—YES—oh my GOD!"
You're in his arms before he can even finish, nearly knocking him over as you collapse against his chest, babbling yes in every language you know—Creole, English, everything—between desperate kisses and tearful laughter.
The camera cuts back to you now—sunlight catching the glint of tears still clinging to your lashes as you hold up your left hand, the diamond glinting like captured starlight. Heavy. Perfect. His.
“We're getting married!” you whisper yell, voice trembling with a giddy, breathless laugh—but it fades too fast.
"...Haven’t been able to get pregnant, though."
A shaky breath. The words taste like salt and something sharper.
“We tried. A couple times. And then...weknew."
Your throat works around the weight of it.
“‘Doctor ran tests. There's—" A tiny, broken noise, “A lot."
Your gaze drops to your lap, where your other hand fists in the fabric of your slip.
“Eren…has given up so much for our content. Let the world into us. But—"
A tear splashes onto your knee. Then another. You don't even notice until your voice cracks.
“All he wants now is privacy. His wife. A baby.”
You swipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, laughing wetly—“And I couldn’t even—"
The sentence dies.
For a long moment, there's just the sound of the ocean and your unsteady breathing. Then, so quiet the mic barely catches it—
"It felt like I failed him."
Your laughter wavers—thin and watery—as tears streak hot down your cheeks. You swipe at them with trembling fingertips, shaking your head as you murmur, “Sorry, sorry,” to the empty air.
Your voice steadies, even as the tears keep falling.
“But we’re here, in St.Lucia. And I get to spend the rest of my life with the man I love.”
You tilt your face up toward the sunlight, closing your eyes for just a second—
But that’s when the sound of heavy footsteps on tile makes your breath catch.
And there he is.
The camera doesn’t catch his face—just the sheer mass of him, silhouetted against the morning light. Long dark hair, streaked with gold where the sun touches it. Broad shoulders, tattoos creeping up the side of his neck. His bare chest is a canvas of sun-kissed skin, scattered with moles and faint freckles.
But you see all of him—the deep green of his eyes, hazel flecks burning under heavy brows. The natural frown etched into his features, lips full and pink, parted as he rasps—
“Why the hell ain’t you in bed?”
His voice is sleep-rough, edged with concern.
“…’Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, “Got dressed.”
Silence.
His thumb suddenly grazes your cheek, catching a stray tear. His touch is rough but tender, tilting your face up toward him as he grunts—
“‘You good?”
His hand dwarfs your face, fingers tipping your chin up further. You blink up at him through damp lashes, lips curling into a soft smile despite the lingering tears.
“‘Was just talkin' to our little family," you say, thumb brushing the camera lens gently—“They miss you."
“I miss you in bed," he counters, voice a low, sleep-rough rumble that sends heat prickling up your neck.
A breathless giggle escapes you as you glance at the time.
“Baby, it’s barely noon.”
Your fingers catch his wrist, tugging lightly—“Come sit with me?"
He hesitates—then shakes his head, jaw tightening slightly.
“I’ll ‘show face in a bit," he grunts, “‘Gotta shower first."
“And then you’ll come?"
"Mhm."
The affirmation is gruff, but his grip on your chin tightens as he suddenly leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss—tongue dragging slow over your bottom lip before pulling away with a wet pop.
And then, he’s gone.
You sigh playfully, shaking your head with a knowing smile as you watch him stalk off—"That's him in a good mood," you murmur, rolling your eyes affectionately before your expression shifts—mischief sparking in your gaze.
“Well, what he doesn't know is I've got a little surprise.”
You bite your bottom lip, fingers tapping against your thigh.
"For him... and you guys."
A sly wink, “You know I can't come on here without giving y'all the other part of our channel."
With that, you hop up from the sofa—bare feet padding silently across the sun-warmed terracotta floors as you tiptoe through the sprawling Mediterranean villa.
The outdoor shower comes into view—a stunning mosaic of turquoise and deep cobalt tiles, sunlight dappling through the latticework. The sound of rushing water meets your ears first, then—
Him.
Eren stands fully nude beneath the spray—a masterpiece of masculine power carved in ink and muscle. Water sluices down the hard planes of his tattooed chest, his biceps flexing as he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair—pushing it back just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his jaw, the sinful curve of his mouth. Droplets cling to his long lashes, framing those deep green eyes as he tips his head back, throat working as the water cascades over him.
His body is ridiculous—abs like forged steel, thick thighs taut with restrained strength. And then—there. Between his legs, heavy and full even at rest, his cock hangs thick against his thigh, the flushed tip glistening under the water.
You carefully prop the camera up, angling it perfectly to capture the outdoor shower's decadent scene before slipping the sheer coverup from your shoulders—letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of fabric. Your neon orange bikini clings to every curve as you step under the arched entrance, hips swaying with playful purpose as you approach his towering frame.
The moment your arms slide around his waist—lips pressing a teasing kiss to the small of his water-slick back—his entire body tenses. Then, slowly, he turns.
One large hand cups your chin, tilting your face up as he looms over you—those hunter-green eyes dark with warning.
“Du kleine Unruhestifterin," he murmurs, voice rough.
You little troublemaker.
His tongue lolls out lazily—a silent command. You obey instantly, your own tongue slipping past your lips to meet his. The slide of them together pulls a shudder from you, your eyes rolling back as he deepens the kiss with a growl—claiming your mouth like he owns it. Because he does.
When you finally pull away—giving his bottom lip one last tug between your teeth—the noise he makes is pure animal. A deep, possessive grunt that sends heat spiraling through your core. You giggle, high and breathless, licking the taste of him from your lips.
“Be nice," you whisper, fluttering your lashes up at him—equal parts angel and devil.
His fingers thread through your French curls, gently cradling your head as he tucks your giggles against his chest—the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Then, finally, he turns his gaze toward the camera—voice a low, affectionate rumble.
“She’s always been good at persuadin’ me.”
You drape your arms around his neck, pressing your body flush against his as your giggles bubble up—tits bouncing against him playfully.
“‘You happy now? You love all our babies?" you chirp.
His response is a deep, vibrating ”Mhm," as his hands slide down to grip your hips possessively. You snuggle closer, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder with a satisfied hum, breathing in his scent—sandalwood, something distinctly him.
But while you're nestled against him like a content kitten, Eren has other plans. His lips quirk in that cocky half-smile as he mouths “I lied," directly at the camera—his wink full of mischief before he nuzzles back into you, knowing damn well what he just did.
The camera now cuts to a sprawling deep green sofa bed in a sun drenched corner of the villa, where you're sprawled out in nothing but a skimpy gold bikini—back arched, hips tilted, ass up—your skin glistening under the Caribbean light.
You pout dramatically at the lens, running your hands over your thighs.
“Ugh, I swear I won’t get a full tan here!” you whine, twisting to show the untouched skin of your inner thighs—your fingers tracing the faint tan lines with exaggerated frustration.
Before you can continue your lament, a sharp smack! echoes through the room—Eren’s palm landing firmly on your ass, making the flesh jiggle.
”Move," he rumbles, already nudging you aside—his natural dominance taking over as he manspreads onto the sofa bed like he owns it. His tattoos flex under the golden light, one thick thigh nudging yours apart as he settles in.
Your lips purse into an exaggerated pout, eyes fluttering up at him with faux hurt.
“You're being mean.”
Eren's stares. His index finger then crooks, wagging you closer with that effortless, commanding ease that always makes your stomach flip. You slide toward him, hips swaying playfully, until his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss—quick but deep, his tongue swiping possessively over yours before pulling away with a wet smack.
“Tut mir leid, Schatz," he rumbles—I'm sorry, baby—his rough German apology curling around your ears like smoke.
You grin at the camera, freckles standing out against your brown skin as you rub your hands up and down Eren’s tattooed forearms.
“Guess what we have?" you chirp, excitement bubbling in your tone.
Eren arches a brow, his deep voice dry.
“Fan mail?"
"Fan mail!" you squeak, immediately digging into the pretty stack of envelopes beside you—tied together with a silk ribbon. You pluck one out, scanning it before correcting, “Fan question, actually."
Clearing your throat, you read aloud—
“'I love you both so much—your dynamic, the way you tease each other, how passionate you are...Awe!” You pause, pressing a hand to your chest, touched.
“'Okay, okay—so, I'm kind of shy asking this, but I'm in a relationship, and my boyfriend loves when I ride him, but I...don't really know what to do? Any tips?'"
Your lips curl into a sly grin as you shift your hips against Eren’s thigh, fingers drumming playfully on his chest.
“So, let’s talk about cowgirl—fun fact, it actually dates waaaay back," you purr, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“…Some historians trace it to ancient tantric texts, others say it was practically sacred in certain cultures—but let’s be real," your curls sway as you tilt your head, “The real magic? ‘How many ways you can make this classic feel brand new."
Eren’s palm thwaps your ass lightly—a silent get on with it.
“There are several—yes, several—ways to ride," you announce, holding up the corresponding number of fingers, “And lucky for you..." You pat Eren’s thigh like he’s your favorite piece of gym equipment—“..I’ve got the perfect demonstrator right here."
His grunt is half-amused, half-exasperated as you swing a leg over him, straddling his lap playfully.
“Consider this your full tutorial.”
Your posture shifts instantly—shoulders rolling back, lips parting with slow intention as your gaze locks onto Eren’s. The camera catches the way his pupils dilate just slightly when you run your tongue along your mouth, your voice dropping into that tone—the one that’s equal parts instructor and temptress.
“Lesson one," you purr, fingertips skating up his chest, “Start with him comfortable. Relaxed."
Your hips roll in a lazy circle against his lap, the heat between your thighs already unmistakable.
“And obviously...hard. That’s the goal."
You nip at his earlobe, breathing a giggle against his skin when his grip tightens on your waist.
“Baby," you murmur, dragging your tongue along the shell of his ear, “How’re you enjoying St. Lucia?”
Eren’s jaw flexes—the only tell he’ll give you—but you feel him hardening beneath you, the thick ridge of him pressing insistently against your core. Your laugh is velvet-wrapped mischief as you grind down harder, relishing the way his breath hitches.
“Mmm, that’s the reaction we want."
Your fingers glide over the bulging curves of his biceps, kneading the taut muscle with deliberate appreciation.
“Aren’t you having fun with me?" you coo, batting your lashes up at him through the dark fringe of them.
Eren’s eyes—always tracking you—darken further, his voice scraping low from his chest.
“You know how I feel bein’ here.”
“Good boy,” you softly praise, lips curling into that wicked little smile—the one that makes his jaw twitch. Your hands slide down to rub slow, teasing circles over his thick thighs, fingertips ghosting dangerously close to where he really wants them.
“Thank you for being so...communicative.”
Then, with a sinuous shift of your hips, you arch deeper into his lap—your gaze flicking back to the camera.
“Now, tell me—does our birthday boy deserve something…special today?"
The camera catches Eren perfectly—his dark hair pulled into a loose bun, those few stubborn tendrils escaping to frame his glaring, predatory expression. He’s pure power sprawled beneath you—legs spread wide, chest rising with each controlled breath—watching, waiting, like he’s deciding whether to make a move or let you play longer.
Then—your hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants.
A sharp inhale. A quick tug.
“Oh.”
Your gasp is high, breathy, practically whiny as your big, round eyes drink him in—his cock springing free, thick, flushed and already leaking just from your teasing.
“Look at you," you mewl, voice dripping with honeyed reverence—like he’s something sacred, "’All for me?"
Eren’s smirk is barely there—just a twitch of those sinful lips—before his hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to his.
“Always."
Your gaze flicks back to the camera with that signature mix of sweet and sinful—letting them in on the moment before your attention returns to him.
“Make him ready for you first," you instruct—your lips parting slightly, tongue swiping along your bottom lip as if already tasting him.
Eren's eyes darken, his grip tightening on your thigh.
“’You thirsty?” he rasps.
You nod eagerly, biting down on your plush lip with those big, pleading eyes.
He doesn't hesitate. His calloused fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up as he spits directly into your open mouth—a thick, wet string of saliva that lands heavy on your tongue.
“Mmm—" You swallow instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as his palm cracks against your cheek.
“Zeig’s ihnen," he growls—Show them.
And oh, you do.
Your tongue drags slow and filthy from the thick base of him all the way up—a long, indulgent lick that leaves a glistening trail along his length. The taste of him—pure Eren—floods your senses as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip, savoring the bead of precum that leaks onto your taste buds.
Then—your lips part wider, sinking down onto him inch by inch until he’s pressed against the back of your throat. The sound—wet, filthy, obscene—fills the room as your nose brushes against his pelvis, swallowing around him with deliberate patience.
Eren’s groan is low and rough, fingers tightening in your hair as he mutters something in German—praise or a curse, you can’t tell—but the way his hips twitch upward tells you everything you need to know.
“Good fuckin’ girl.”
Your movements grow desperate, hungry—swollen lips struggling to stretch around his impossible girth, every inch of him throbbing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and force yourself deeper. The sounds you make—tiny, choked mewls turning into breathless whimpers—only spur him on. His cock hits the back of your throat, again and again, the slick slap of skin against skin filling the air as you drool around him, spit dripping messily down your chin.
When you finally pull away—gasping, lips shiny and ruined—you whine at the loss, your fingers immediately wrapping around what your mouth couldn’t take. Both hands jerk him off in tight, twisting strokes—your tongue darting out to swirl around his leaking tip, collecting the thick beads of precum and licking them up like a starving little thing.
Eren’s voice is ragged, his German words rough and guttural—“So verdammt gierig..."
“So greedy..." you translate breathlessly, giggling around his cock like it’s something adorable, something sweet, despite the filth dripping from your chin. Then? You’re practically bobbing your palms around his dick, going even lower than before.
Eren’s thighs tense, muscles straining beneath ink-stained skin as he curses, fingers tightening in your curls.
“Fuck—" His head tilts back, jaw clenched, as he uses your palms—hips lifting off the bed to fuck up into your hand with sharp, punishing thrusts. You mewl once more as your mouth follows back onto his tip—sucking, sucking down. The camera catches it all—his dominance, your submission, the sinful wetness of every thrust as you put your mouth back on him—until finally, with a growl that rumbles through your bones, he yanks you off with a filthy pop.
“Enough."
Your lips are parted, panting, still aching for him—but his grip on your hair tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“You want to ride?" He rasps, “‘Come fuckin’ ride me.”
“Mm, baby—“ you mewl, “This is a tutorial, shouldn’t we—“
Eren’s response is interrupting—his thick fingers hooking into the flimsy fabric of your bikini bottoms, yanking them aside with a roughness that makes your breath hitch. The sudden slap of his palm against your pussy—sharp, mean—has your hips jerking forward with it.
“Keep goin’ then," he growls, fingers beginning to rub rough circles over your swollen clit, his other hand gripping your ass cheek tight enough to bruise.
“Talk.”
Your body shudders, thighs trembling as you struggle to stay composed—your giggles turning into more breathless whimpers, your voice wavering but still playful as you turn back to the camera.
“O—Okay, so—once he’s ready," you stutter, cheeks flushed deep bronze, “You just—ah!—sink down on him—slow, okay?” You bite your lip, "Especially if—mmf!—if you’ve got someone as big as my 'Ren—“
Eren grunts, dragging the slick, flushed head of his cock through your dripping folds—letting the camera catch the obscene wetness coating him before he smacks your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint.
“Ain’t nobody as big as me," he snarls, voice thick with arrogance—his grip tightening on your waist as he lines himself up, the heavy tip of him pressing teasingly against your entrance.
“Bring it to me.”
Your hand reaches back, fingers curling into the flesh of his thigh as you lock eyes with the camera—your lips parting around a shaky exhale as you begin to sink down onto him.
Eren’s grip shifts suddenly—his calloused fingers seizing your jaw, forcing your face to stay angled toward the lens as he tugs you down with relentless pressure. The stretch is unreal—your walls clenching around his thick cock inch by inch as your breath hitches in your throat.
Your eyes roll back—voice slurring as you try to keep instructing through the haze of pleasure, "Y—You wanna—mmf—take all of it—"
Eren’s his hips jerk up hard, forcing another inch inside—his voice thick with arrogance, “You feelin’ me?”
You whimper, hands gripping his thighs as you force yourself down, your slick walls yielding around him until your ass meets his hips—fully seated. Your face twists—lips parted in a silent moan, eyes squeezing shut before fluttering open to find him instead of the camera.
And then—God—your folds spurt a fresh rush of cream against him, your body betraying you completely as you lose all semblance of control, trembling in his lap.
“Look at you,” he rasps, “Actin’ like a big fuckin’ girl, little one.”
Your arms snake around his neck, clinging to him as you press a soft, pleading kiss to his lips—whispering against them in Creole, just for him—“Lèt mwen mennen, chéri..."
Let me lead, baby…
Eren hesitates—his dark eyes searching yours—before he exhales sharply through his nose. He pulls back just enough to guide your palms onto his chest, lips pressing against your ring, to both of your palms in turn—a silent permission—before his arms drop to his sides, muscles taut with restraint.
“‘Go ‘head.”
Your voice then lilts sweetly, hips rolling in slow, teasing circles against his lap.
“Okay, so first—warm up," you murmur, fingers threading through the loose tendrils of his dark hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw clench.
“You wanna start slow," you breathe, eyelashes fluttering—though your breath hitches when he twitches inside you, thick and impatient.
“It's all about—mm—connection..."
You whine a little—high-pitched, adorable—your folds clutching desperately at his cock with every tiny shift.
“T—Take your time adjusting," you instruct shakily, though it sounds more like you're reminding yourself—your thighs trembling as you rise up until just the tip of him remains, then sink back down with a breathy sigh.
Eren's hands flex against the sofa—his nostrils flaring as he watches you, taunting him with your lazy pace. But he lets you lead, just like you asked—even if his teeth grind together when your nails scrape against his scalp.
“‘Feel good, baby?”
Eren just growls, his hips jerking up just enough to make your entire body twitch.
“Quit playin’."
Your lips press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose—soft, sweet—and he retaliates by bumping his nose against yours in return, making you giggle breathlessly.
“Okay,” you whisper, “First three positions—think of ‘em like gears,” you explain, hips rolling in slow, indulgent circles—your thighs flexing as you shift upward, grinding rather than bouncing.
“First gear—easy, sensual, all about the tease.”
You demonstrate, your back arching beautifully as you rock against him—your gaze locked onto his, heavy-lidded and dripping with intent, “It’s more for your pleasure, but—”
One of your hands lifts, twirling a loose curl around your finger—your French braids cascading over your shoulders, the scent of vanilla and sunshine clinging to them.
“You keep his attention by making him watch.”
Your other hand slides up your own body—fingers trailing over your collarbone before you hook them into the ties of your bikini top. With a flick, the fabric falls away—your heavy breasts bouncing free, nipples peaked and begging for touch.
Eren’s nostrils flare, but he stays still—letting you lead, even as his cock twitches deep inside you.
“Second gear—”
Your breath hitches as you shift again, riding him with more purpose—your hips undulating in slow, delicious waves.
“Third gear—”
And then you grind, your clit rubbing firmly against the base of him with every movement. A rush of pleasure floods your senses—your walls fluttering around him as you struggle to keep your voice steady.
“Th—This one—” You swallow hard, your words slurring slightly, “Might—mmf—hit your spots—“
“Yeah?”
Eren suddenly rasps—arrogant, smug—his fingers flexing against your hips but still refusing to help.
A desperate little whimper escapes your lips—“Y—Yeah”—as your hips roll faster, grinding against him like a toy wound too tight, chasing that sweet, throbbing pleasure building low in your belly.
Eren stays perfectly still beneath you—just watching with those eyes, his low voice taunting as he growls,
“C'mon, baby. Keep goin’.”
Your breath catches—a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your head falls back, braids cascading over your shoulders. But Eren’s fingers snap up, wrapping around your throat in a firm grip, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Nah, nah—eyes on me," he rasps, thumb brushing your pulse point—“‘Want you to see me watchin’ you.”
Tears well in your eyes—spilling over as your climax crashes into you with a sob, your cream gushing around him, coating his balls in slick heat.
Eren tsks—his grip tightening on your ass cheek, tugging your grinding hips right where he wants them as he murmurs low in German,
"So schön... so verdammt schön für mich…”
So beautiful... so fuckin’ beautiful for me…
Your hips slow to a sensual sway, chest rising and falling with each breath as your curls tumble over your shoulders, framing your breasts like a dark halo. You glance down at Eren through your lashes, lips parted as you try to steady your breathing—but the second your arms wrap around his neck, you let out a soft, shy giggle, turning toward the camera with a sheepish smile.
“Oops—" you murmur, voice dripping with playful sweetness, “Didn’t mean to get so...carried away."
Eren huffs out a rough chuckle, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses between your breasts—“I love watchin’ you like that. Love watchin’ you cum like that."
You bite your lip, suppressing another giggle before looking back at the camera—your expression shifting back into instructor mode, though your voice is still breathy from pleasure.
“See? The three gears—always gonna get you there," you sigh, fingers threading lazily through Eren’s hair—“And trust me... your man’s gonna love it."
Your lips curl into a lazy, satisfied smile as you glance at the camera, breath still uneven.
“Not done yet though,” you hum—“‘Might feel a little sore after that first round, so this is when you just...sit in it. Warm each other up all over again."
Your fingers trail down to nudge Eren's chin, tipping his face up toward you—your eyes softening as you whisper, "’Love you, yeah?"
He doesn't answer with words—just tugs your mouth down to his in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding together with unhurried heat. His hands roam over your back, fingers pressing possessively into the curve of your hips as you shift slightly—your folds grinding lazily along the swollen tip of him, drawing a low groan from his chest.
Then, with a breathless shudder, you sink back down onto him—your lips parting against his in a silent gasp as he fills you completely. The kiss deepens, languid and intoxicating, until you finally pull back—turning toward the camera with flushed cheeks.
“This one—" you pant, rocking up and down in slow, shallow motions, “—We call the lazy cowgirl. No rush, no pressure... just breathing together before the next round."
Your hips roll in smooth, rhythmic waves—your tongue dragging teasingly along Eren's neck as you murmur against his pulse, “Keep it playful now... this one's for him."
Your hands glide over the sculpted planes of his biceps and shoulders, fingertips tracing the ink-dark tattoos as you murmur, “You’re too handsome, baby—" between slow, rocking motions. Eren grunts through the praise, dragging you into a deep, appreciative kiss—but you feel it, the way his restraint starts crumbling, the sharp catch of his breath against your lips betraying how badly he wants to take control.
You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder, braids spilling like silk over his skin as you peer behind you—watching the sinuous arch of your spine, the hypnotic sway of your hips as you move atop him.
“Okay," you exhale once more, pulling back just enough to meet the camera's gaze—your voice dripping with playful mischief, “Next positions are where it gets fun—pleasurable for both of you."
A giggle bubbles up as you admit, “It’s a silly name, but—we call this one the shakedown.”
And then you show it—your ass lifting slightly before shaking in slow, deliberate twists atop him, the motion making your folds clench around his cock in a way that has his fingers digging into your thighs.
A harsh smack echoes through the room—Eren’s palm cracking against your ass cheek, leaving a stinging flush in its wake. You gasp, but don't stop—grinding down harder as he spanks you again, and again, each sharp slap punctuated by his guttural groans.
“Fuck—" he grits out, grip bruising as he watches your body jolt with every strike.
You whimper through it, trembling—but your voice is a pure sultry tease as you murmur to the camera, “Your man's gonna love how this looks…’gonna turn him on completely.”
Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his naught as you continue rolling your hips in slow, decadent circles—French curls cascading like dark silk over his shoulders, tickling his chest as you tilt your head.
“Baby...you still with me?" you tease, breathless laughter lacing your words as you nudge his temple with your nose, "’You’ve been a little quiet…”
Eren’s response is a rough blend of English and German, his voice thick with barely-restrained hunger as his palm cracks against your ass again—harder this time—forcing a sweet little “Mmph!" from your lips as you jolt forward, your mouth brushing his.
“Scheiße—" he growls, gripping your waist as his other hand lands another stinging slap—“Du siehst so verdammt gut aus—"
You look so fuckin’ good.
His words dissolve into a shuddering groan as your walls clench around him, your body squeezing him in a slick, greedy rhythm. You bite your bottom lip, catching the camera’s gaze with a sultry grin—your voice dropping to a low, instructional purr.
“Next one’s called...the swirl.”
And then you demonstrate—your hips twisting in slow, hypnotic spirals, muscles fluttering tight around him in a way that wrings a filthy, wet sound from where you’re joined. Eren’s grip turns vicious—his cock throbbing inside you as your folds suck him deeper with every sinuous roll.
“Goddamn, Bunny. Just like that. Shit.”
His head is tilting back, groaning as he drags the words out.
Your breath hitches, but you keep going—grinding down in relentless circles, your body milking him with every motion as the camera captures every obscene shlick of your arousal coating him. Your hips continue their sinuous swirl, fingertips skimming the hard planes of his chest before crawling up to cradle the back of his neck possessively.
“This is your chance to dominate.”
Eren's head stays tilted back, his hunter-green eyes locked onto yours—jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitch. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his cock twitching as your folds clench in another deliberate, milking squeeze.
“Hell—" he grunts out, fingers digging into your hips, “That feels too fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
And you smile, rolling your hips in another filthy, slower, perfect circle.
Your gaze locks onto the camera as you plant your feet firmly on the sofa—tightening your thighs around his hips as your fingers drag lower, tracing the hard ridges of his abs with deliberate admiration.
"And this—" you breathe, “—Is probably your man’s favorite. The expert cowgirl. Where you let him use you to his strength... his advantage."
Your eyes flick down to Eren, lashes fluttering as you coo, “My man’s so strong—‘can fuck me any way he wants to."*
The second those words leave your lips, Eren’s grip shifts—his hands sliding beneath your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as he takes control, tugging you down onto his cock with a slow, purposeful bounce.
“This—ooh!—this’ll also hit your spots if you let it—"
You gasp, your words fracturing as his tip drags directly over that spongey sweet spot inside you. Your eyes roll slightly—a giggle bubbling up as you try to suppress the shiver of pleasure that ripples through you.
"That’s it," he rasps, his grip tightening as he drives you down harder, faster.
“Take it. Take it. Squeezin’ me just fuckin’ right.”
Your thighs tremble—your folds fluttering around him as he uses you exactly how he wants, his cock pistoning into that perfect, blissful spot with every snap of his hips.
“Eren—" you whimper, your control slipping—your body melting under the weight of his dominance.
“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Feel it.”
Your fingers slide helplessly over the thick ridges of his biceps beneath you—and that’s when a real, broken whimper claws its way out of your throat, voice trembling as you gasp,
“F—Feels too—mmph!—too good—"
Eren’s response is a rough, impatient tch—his grip tightening as he growls, “You ain’t been enjoyin’ yourself enough. Hold onto me.”
At those words? Your head lolls back, your body going pliant against him as he pounds you—his powerful thighs driving you up and down his cock in slow, devastating bounces that leave your vision hazy. Your nails dig into his forearms—your whine pitching higher, dissolving into a slurred “Mmmphfuh—!" as your words fail you completely.
“I c—can’t think.”
And that’s when you see it—that untamed, rough-edged side of him that follows him everywhere. The country boy who doesn’t ask, just takes—who fucks you with the same effortless dominance he carries in every other part of his life. His hands slide up to your waist, fingers bruising as he lifts you—then drops you back onto his cock with a filthy, wet slap, his hips driving up to meet you.
“Don’t gotta think," he rasps—voice dark, mean with desire.
“Just keep takin’ it.”
Eren's hands lock around your hips like steel bands—his thick cock splitting you open with every brutal, upward thrust. This ain't riding anymore. This is him fucking you—claiming you—his deep southern drawl rumbling against your ear as he takes over your lesson with rough, possessive authority.
“Last one, baby. My fuckin' favorite—the Noise Complaint.”
And God, you understand why he named it that the second his powerful thighs flex beneath you. His grip is absolute—those big, rough hands lifting your entire body with terrifying ease before slamming you back down onto his cock in slow, devastating drops. The sound is obscene—a wet, rhythmic clap of skin-on-skin that echoes off the walls, punctuated by your broken little “Ah! Ah! Ah!" with every bounce.
It’s everything that defines him—raw, unfiltered, dominance, that arrogance dialed to eleven. Clap after clap after clap—skin slapping against skin in a rhythm so loud it dares the neighbors to complain.
“Hear that?" Eren growls, “That’s the shit I wanna hear.”
You're sobbing now—pathetic, high-pitched whines of “E—Eren!" tumbling from your swollen lips as your body betrays you, clamping down on him in helpless pleasure.
“Take your reward for bein' such a good fuckin’ teacher.”
Your fingers clutch at his forearms, desperation creeping into your voice as you whimper, “Baby, please—‘wanna cum in my favorite position...”
“‘Thought it was my birthday, huh?”
But you give him those eyes—the ones that always make him cave—your lower lip trembling as you hiccup, “Please?"
It’s almost adorable—the way you beg, your tits bouncing with every ragged breath, those big, pleading eyes. How could he say no?
“Face first, ass up—now.”
You scramble to obey—arching your back sexily, pressing your flushed face into the sofa cushions as you present yourself for him. The contrast is stark—your small frame dwarfed beneath his towering body, your curves trembling as you wait.
Eren’s gaze flickers to the camera—“‘She knows how she submits in this position," he rumbles, gripping his cock at the base as he watches your folds drip for him. He drags the thick head of his dick against you, taunting you as he growls—
“Only givin’ it to you if you take all of me—no fussin’."
You bite your lip—your fingers clenching the cushions—before spreading yourself wider for him, your voice a sweet, breathless whimper.
“Won’t fuss... ‘promise."
His thick thumb presses down on the small of your back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch as he spreads your folds wider with his free hand.
“All of it," he grunts—and then he sinks into you all at once, his heavy cock stretching you to the limit in one relentless push.
You groan—a high, desperate whimper tearing from your throat as your pussy makes a wet pfft sound around him. He doesn’t let you adjust—just tugs halfway out before slamming back in, the sudden stretch making you sob adorably into the cushions.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Over and over—until the pleasure borders on discomfort, his thick shaft dragging against your walls with brutal precision.
“Fuck," Eren curses—his voice rough as he starts bouncing you on his cock, your hips gripped tight in his hands.
“Always so fuckin’ tight.”
His groans deepen—low, drawn-out, almost pained—as your slickness coats him completely.
“Goddamn, you’re drownin’ me—“ he pants, hips stuttering as your pussy squelches around him with every thrust. He’s not even lifting you anymore—just pounding into you over and over, your cries turning into sweet, broken sobs as you drag his name out pitifully, “E—Erennn.”
His breath comes jagged—his own control slipping—as he mutters again, “Fuck—you’re so wet—"
And then—with one final, punishing thrust—he buries himself fully inside you, his hips flush against your ass.
That’s when he moans—really moans—his voice slurring.
“Fuhhhhckkk.”
You whimper back—slurring messily, your words barely coherent as you press your forehead into the cushions.
His thrusts slow as he angles his hips just right, grinding the thick head of his cock against that spot once more.
“C'mon," he growls, voice rough with urgency, his grip tightening on your hip—“Get it out. Wanna feel you drench me—make a fuckin' mess."
He yanks himself out, his cock glistening with your slick as he fists himself hard, head tipping back with a jagged groan.
The sudden emptiness makes you whine—but before you can protest, his palm cracks against your ass hard, the sharp sting forcing another sob from your lips.
“Rub that clit," he orders, his voice dark with command—“Don't stop 'til you squirt all over me."
Your thighs tremble violently as your fingers fly to your swollen clit, circling desperately—your entire body tensing as pleasure coils too tight, too much—
"’Ren—‘M—gonna—!" you wail, your voice breaking into a sweet, shattered sob.
He groans—filthy and approving—his strokes on his own cock speeding up as he watches you unravel.
“I know,” he rasps, his green eyes burning with lust.
“Do it. Cover me."
Your back arches violently as your climax explodes out of you—a gushing, uncontrollable flood that soaks his thighs, the sofa, everything—your pussy pulsing around nothing as you scream his name.
Eren growls, his own release hitting him just as hard—thick ropes of cum painting your trembling ass as he groans through gritted teeth.
“Good fuckin’ job, Bunny.”
Your body shudders as the last waves of your climax begin to ebb—but then, without warning, a different kind of release crashes over you. Soft, warm tears spill down your cheeks, catching you by surprise that you quickly wipe your face. It’s not just pleasure anymore—it’s something deeper, more needed, like your body finally surrenders to the intensity of everything you just felt.
Eren notices immediately.
“C'mere," he murmurs, his voice suddenly tender as he pulls you against him, ignoring the mess between you both. His large hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as he tucks you into the safety of his chest.
His fingers slide into your braids, stroking gently—his lips pressing against your temple in slow, soothing kisses as he whispers, “You did so fuckin’ good."
You cling to him, your breath hitching as the last tremors of emotion—and pleasure—rush through you. His warmth, his scent, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear—it all grounds you, wrapping you in a cocoon of safety.
“I got you,” he rumbles, “Always do.”
Your body melts into him, boneless and spent as you curl your arms around his neck and tuck your face against his skin—hiding from the camera’s gaze, suddenly shy despite everything you’ve just shared. Eren chuckles—a deep, knowing sound—his fingers tracing idle circles against your lower back.
“‘Never done that before,” he muses, voice rough with amusement—but there’s no teasing in it. Just warmth.
You don’t answer—just nuzzle deeper into him, your breaths slow and steady against his chest. And like always, he adjusts—his knees bending slightly to give you what you need, his frame curling around yours protectively.
But then—his phone rings.
Eren tenses—his head lifting with a frustrated suck to his teeth—but before he can dismiss it, you murmur, “Might be your Korean investors, baby… take it."
He exhales through his nose.
"Fuckin’ timin’.”
His lips linger against your temple—warm and rough—before he rises from the sofa, his towering frame momentarily blocking the camera’s view. You curl your knees to your chest, still glistening with sweat, your wide, round eyes tracing his every movement—the way his muscles shift beneath his tattooed skin, the way his damp hair clings to the back of his neck.
“Got me on international fuckin’ hold," he grumbles, glancing back at you with a smirk.
A weak, breathless smile tugs at your lips.
But then your gaze sharpens, studying him—the way dominance radiates off him even now, the handsomeness etched into every sharp angle of his face—and something tender swells in your chest.
"Need me to translate when they pick up?" you offer softly, tilting your head.
His green eyes narrow—defensive.
“What you tryin’ to say?"
“That my Korean’s better than yours."
He grabs your discarded top off the floor, entirely dismissing your insult—“Put this on," he orders, tossing it toward you.
You catch it lazily, shrugging.
“Not like they didn’t just watch me—"
“Bunny."
His voice drops—a warning.
You sigh dramatically but relent, sliding the fabric over your head as he steps closer. His fingers brush your nipples through the material—rough, possessive—before he cups your chin, kissing you briefly, firmly.
A command, not a request.
You don’t kiss back—just nod with another sigh, letting him suck your bottom lip once more before he pulls away, already striding out of frame.
You tie the strings of your top back into place, smoothing the fabric down with a soft, playful smile toward the camera—your cheeks still flushed, curls tousled from Eren’s hands.
“Hope y’all enjoyed fanmail," you hum, "It’s always fun answering your questions.”
Behind you, Eren’s deep voice rumbles in Korean—Yes, I understand. I’ll contact you after reviewing the contract again.
You glance over just in time to see him staring directly at you—chin lifted, green eyes gleaming with challenge—as he over-enunciates each syllable, chest puffed with pride.
You roll your eyes hard, fighting a grin as you turn back to the camera and whisper, “He’s been studying as you can tell.”
For the next few minutes, you chat sweetly with the camera—rambling about random things, laughing as you adjust the camera angle—until Eren reappears, a rare, broad grin splitting his face.
“They doubled the investment,” he announces, voice thick with satisfaction.
Your hands clap together, “That’s huge, baby! I knew they’d love you.”
“Let’s celebrate,” he rumbles, already striding toward the kitchen—“‘You hungry?"
You nod eagerly, rubbing your arms as you follow his movements—watching as he pulls open the fridge, muscles flexing under the dim kitchen lights.
“Could make spicy pork stir-fry," he muses, glancing at you—“Or that creamy garlic shrimp you like. Maybe both."
You rest your head on your knees, watching him move through the kitchen with that effortless, masculine grace.
“Whatever your heart desires, birthday boy."
His shoulders tense slightly—the way they always do when he’s deep in thought, jaw locked tight. You notice it instantly.
“Mon chéri," you say softly in Creole, voice a gentle hum beneath the sizzle of the pan—"Défroncé to mâchoire—li plen de tension."
Unclench your jaw—it’s full of tension.
“‘Force of habit.”
“You’d think you were always unhappy,” you warily murmur—which he hears of course.
Eren pauses.
“Why wouldn’t I be happy here with you?" he counters gruffly, not looking up—but you hear it, the defensiveness.
“‘Just wanna pick your brain," you admit, tracing idle circles on your knee—“Feels like if I don’t...I lose you a little."
Eren stills. Then, finally, he turns—his green eyes meeting yours, really meeting them, as he sets the knife down.
“Alright," he rumbles, “Pick, then.”
You let out a slow sigh, chewing your bottom lip as you search for the right words—your fingers twisting together in your lap.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a while now,” you start, “After everything—the chaos, the traveling, the proposal,” Your lips curl into a soft smile at the memory—"I’m so happy here, ‘Ren. It’s everything I never knew I needed. But..."
Your throat tightens—because the unspoken thing hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.
“…I just need to know you’re happy too," you finally say, fingers pressing into your knees—“That nothing’s...disappointed you.
Eren’s expression darkens—not in anger, but in fierce disagreement as he steps closer, crowding your space, his rough palms cupping your face.
“Listen t’ me," he rumbles, “There’s nothin’ more I could ask for. You—this—us—" His thumb swipes at your mouth, “You’re my fuckin’ world, woman.”
You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes as you exhale softly—nodding as you whisper, “Okay."
His hands grip your hips roughly, lifting you just enough to smack your ass—the sharp crack making your body jump as he growls, “Let's have some fun, yeah?"
A soft laugh bubbles up in your throat, but before you can respond, he’s already moving—grabbing a glass, rummaging through the fridge.
“Want me to make you a drink?" he offers, half-turned toward you, already reaching for a bottle of rum.
You shake your head, “You're an amazing cook, baby—not the best bartender. ‘M fine."
“Oh?" His head snaps towards you, “So now my drinks ain’t good enough?"
He turns back towards the fridge grabbing fresh fruit, mint, and crushed ice.
“Gonna’ make you eat those words," he mutters—but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips.
You grab the camera, following him into the kitchen with quiet steps—propping it up at the perfect angle to capture this moment. The lens frames him perfectly—his broad shoulders, the way his muscles flex as he bends into the fridge, rummaging for ingredients. You press yourself against his back, molding your body into the warmth of his frame, breathing him in.
Eren chuckles—a low, rumbling sound—before reaching his arm back, large hand cradling your head gently. He tilts his face toward yours, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.
"Love you too," he murmurs against your mouth before pulling away, returning to his mission—citrus fruit in hand, determined to prove his bartending skills.
“I’m really okay without a drink," you say softly.
Eren immediately shoots you a frown.
“We’ve been in St. Lucia for a month," he points out, voice dripping with faux sadness—“And you haven’t drank with me in two whole weeks. What’s goin’ on, huh? I thought you loved me?”
“Pregnant women can’t drink, baby."
Eren freezes.
His hands still—mid-squeeze of a lime—juice dripping forgotten onto the counter.
Slowly, he turns—his green eyes locking onto yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.
“Bunny," he says—just that—his voice a growl, rough with shock.
You nod—shuddering out a nervous giggle—your fingers twisting together.
“…Yeah."
And then—his hands are on you, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his forehead presses to yours—his breath uneven.
“Fuck," he rasps—and for the first time in years, Eren Yeager sounds shaken.
“How long?" he rasps, voice rough with emotion.
You bite your lip, exhaling shakily.
“Remember... when we first got here?” you murmur, brushing your thumbs over his wrists, “I cried because I wanted dragonfruit—and you scoured the whole island trying to find one?"
A slow realization flickers in his eyes—because you don’t crave things like that. Not randomly. Not desperately.
“…I knew something was off then," you admit softly, “Took a test a few days later...and I—" Your voice cracks slightly, “I didn’t believe it. ‘Thought I was seeing things. So I waited. ‘Took another one. And another."
Eren’s jaw clenches—his breathing uneven—but you can see it in his eyes, the way his mind races, piecing together every moment, every mood swing, every sign.
“I’m sorry," you whimper, pressing your forehead harder against his, “I was so scared it was a false positive—‘didn’t want you to get your hopes up just for it to be nothing."
His grip shifts—one hand sliding down to press against your stomach, his palm huge against you, like he’s already trying to feel what’s growing there.
“When the doctors told me I was possibly infertile…it terrified me—not just because of what it meant for us, but because... I realized how much I wanted this. How much I wanted your baby."
A tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you continue, words spilling out in a fragile rush—
“But Korea’s so far from home, ‘Ren. All our family’s back in New Orleans, and I—" Your breath hitches, “I want my momma through this. I want her with me when I’m scared, when I don’t know what’s happening to my body. I wanna be home. But I also don’t wanna be away from you—not for a single second of this.”
Your throat tightens, another wave of fear crashing over you—
“And our supporters... our careers... I’m scared of shutting ourselves away from the love we’ve built. I just don’t wanna feel alone—“
“Stop," he orders, voice raw with conviction, “Stop worryin’—right fuckin’ now. You hear me?"
His grip tightens, eyes burning into yours—
“I’d burn down whole goddamn countries for you. For this baby. You wanna go home? We’re goin’.You want your momma? I’ll carry her ass to Korea myself. You scared of bein’ alone? Not happenin’—not as long as I’m breathin’."
A shuddering little cry escapes you—but Eren doesn’t let you crumble. He crushes you to his chest, his heartbeat thundering against your ear as he rasps—
“You’re mine. This baby’s mine. Not distance, careers, not anythin’ will stop me from takin’ care of you.”
You mewl “I love you" against his lips in a tearful, trembling kiss—his mouth crashing into yours with a devotion so deep, it vibrates through your entire body. The heat of his hands cradling your face—every touch radiates pure, unfiltered love.
Pulling back slightly, you turn your watery gaze toward the camera, your damp lashes fluttering as Eren ducks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—like he’s memorizing your scent, grounding himself in you.
“We’re having a baby," you beam, voice thick with emotion, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.
Eren lifts his head, eyes locking onto the camera—determined, possessive—before he gruffly murmurs, “Y’all been with us through everything. ‘No way we go through this without you. Expect more content—a lot more."
Your breath catches—“You sure?" you whisper, searching his face.
He nods without hesitation, “‘Only want you happy, Bunny.”
And then—without warning—you launch yourself into him, legs wrapping around his waist as you giggle, “We’re having a babyyy!”
Eren grunts as he catches you effortlessly, a playful growl rumbling in his chest as he clutches your body tight—“Let’s go see if we can get you pregnant twice.”
Your laughter echoes as he carries you down the hallway—your limbs tangled around him—and with one last breathless “Bye!" from you, the screen flickers, dissolving into static as the camera shuts off in a nostalgic fade.
Synopsis. By day, Nanami Kento is the perfect husband. Devoted. Loving. A gentle father to your two children. By night, he’s aching to stuff you pregnant with your third. CóckbIocked. Ravenous. Just waiting for the moment he can go…full-on beast mode.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, husband!Nanami, married life, domesticity, Papamin, Yuji and Choso cameos, interruptions, cóckbIocked by your oblivious sons, slight edgíng, 5 +1 things if you squint, FÉRAL Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), face-ríding, manhandIing, spítting, chokíng, fíngering, ROUGH s, cervíx kíssing, all over the house, big Ds, P TALKING, BRÉEDING, mentions of kids, matíng presses, creampíes, cúmpIay, MARATHONS, heavy overstím, CÚMFLATION, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 16.1k
A/N. Based on the manga ‘By Day, a Devoted Husband. By Night, Full-on Beast Mode’ by The Waidan.
T-minus 5 days until the long weekend.
“Reading journal…pencil case…extra cap…” You’re rifling through the essentials stuffed inside your energetic son’s backpack. He was five already, and reaching that age where he just insisted he could do all those ‘big boy’ things by himself. “Hm…I think you have everything-”
“Really? Yippee—” Yuji’s pumping his fist in the air, before he’s immediately tugging the Spiderman-covered bag out of your hands and darting towards the open door. “Okay, momma- myfriendsareheregottogoloveyoubye-”
You watch after the blur of Spiderman and orange t-shirt in a slight daze, “Ah- right. I love you, b-” Before…you just slightly turn your head to the side, and in your peripheral vision you see- “Wait! Yuji, you forgot your-”
A hand on your hip. A strong figure by your side.
“Yuuuji—” A stern yet warm voice echoes, stopping the boy in his tracks in a split-second. “You’ve forgotten your lunch box, sunshine.” And towards the blond-haired man, you turn your head appreciatively.
Nanami Kento.
Your husband.
His overlarge palm cupped the side of your hips, and you’re only glad that Yuji couldn’t see from there the way that Nanami gives you a good squeeze—
“Kento-” With a breathy whisper, you’re swatting at Nanami’s chest. Right in-between his prominent pecs, where Nanami’s usual office shirt was pulled tightly over his broad front, buttoned up like a gift- and even then, you glimpse slivers of his white undershirt peaking out.
Nanami was just so naturally chiselled, in all the years you’ve known him. And you could swear that he’d only grown more built since expanding your family, with more hands-on labor - you guessed there was no better gym than a house with two children.
Slightly leaning up to him, you’re biting back a smile to mutter. “Yuji’s going to see.”
Nanami only softly chuckles, walking out through the front door to meet his son halfway. Dutifully, Yuji turns around so that his father can re-pack that haphazard bag of his, squeezing the (also) Spiderman-patterned lunch box inside.
The boy pouts, “I pwomise I packed it.”
“Mmm, I believe you.” He replies, with just a slight hint of amusement. And once Nanami was done zipping up Yuji’s backpack, he turns his son around and crouches down to meet him at eye-level. “But, next time, how about we double check, sunshine? Just to make it easier on poor momma?”
Yuji considers it for a second- “Okay!” Before he runs back down the smooth, grey-stoned pathway leading up to your cozy lil’ house.
Nobara and Megumi were already waiting for him beyond your house gates, and they slightly balked as they watch their friend’s father stand to his full height afterwards. Marvelling at those huge shoulders. His towering height. The way that Nanami Kento was just so large that his hair seemed to form a coiled, golden halo in the morning sunlight.
It casted shadows on his handsome, handsome features. Accentuating that kind smile of his, just the tiniest dimple at the end of his lips.
You couldn’t blame them - you were ogling him, too.
“You’re huuuuge, Mr. Yuji’s Dad.” Nobara squeaks, once Nanami has accompanied his son safely outside. She casts a tiny hand over her brows to shade it from the sun as she stares.
Nanami smiles shyly, and hastens to grip onto the lil’ handle at the back of Yuji’s backpack - likely to stop him from running into (soon) oncoming traffic, you knew what your son was like. “Why thank you, my dear. But you can just call me ‘uncle’ if you’d like-”
“Is your willy huge, too?” That question was, expectedly, asked by none other than Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t have to look to know that the surly little boy was likely pointing, too.
Honestly- not even covering your mouth and gnawing down on the insides of your cheek can stop the bark of laughter from leaving you. Pwah! Your eyes crinkle into slits of amusement, and through them you’re catching the helpless look that your husband throws your way. Cornered by a vicious, merciless trio of elementary schoolers.
You’re waving your hand in front of him—a motion to just go on.
You wanted to see what he’d say (or not say). And Nanami just opens his mouth when-
“It is.” When all of a sudden, Yuji’s the one to pipe up with the long-awaited answer. Proudly, he’s turning to his laughing friends with his hands on his hips, “Once I needed to pee real bad when papa was showering, so I just went in and saw it- it’s huuu—”
“Look- look! The bus is coming.” Rapidly, Nanami claps his hand over Yuji’s mouth and diverts all attention towards the hounding yellow school bus that was crawling towards them now. Like an oversized caterpillar, of sorts, with the antenna and painted-on face in front to match.
And Nanami Kento was never a fan of these decorated school buses. Never a fan of those soulless blue eyes that a bus should honestly never have.
But right now it felt like the pearly gates of heaven had just opened.
He was bathed in warm relief, ushering the still-giggling trio inside the opening doors of the bus. With a kiss on his cheek goodbye, soon enough you and Nanami were waving off Yuji as he was ferried off to school.
Leaving behind only his gap-toothed grin, the clouded fumes of the bus, and you sighing- “Well, it’s certainly a loud morning.” You’re turning to Nanami, who was still slightly pale from the- ahem…discussion before. “You know, he’s already insisting on making his own school lunch? I just barely managed to keep it contained to packing only his school bag.”
Nanami snorts, “What- and survive on a pack of goldfish all day?”
“And the bugs from the playground, I don’t know why he keeps picking at those.”
Your husband throws an arm around your waist as you walk back to the house together. And his strong, heavy forearm almost seems reluctant to leave your body so that he can continue tying his work tie.
From where it was left off earlier- “Strange child he is.” He loops it ‘round that collar of his, and your eyes watch the bob of Nanami’s throat - so unintentionally attractive. “Can you believe that he’s five already? And Choso’s about to start middle school, they’re growing up too fast.”
“They certainly are.” You hum, handing over Nanami’s neat briefcase once he’s done. “I almost miss when they were just so tiny, and I could pick them both up at once- oh, but I do love them as is.”
He huffs out lovingly, that dimple making an appearance once more. “I know what you mean perfectly, my love.”
It’s a comfortable affair retracing your steps back to the front door, like you had with Yuji earlier. Though much slower, much more…lingering. You’re hanging by the frame of the door as he steps out, and just before he was about to say his goodbyes—“You know- I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again.” Nanami damn near snaps his head turning back to face you, looking you dead-on in the eyes. “The children.”
Two fatal blows.
Nanami’s eyes widen. Nanami’s mouth drops, drier than the Sahara right now. A thin line of perspiration glides down his face. And you watch his body almost step all the way back inside the house. Nanami’s fingers tremble on his briefcase, and you watch it slightly slip-
Before he’s managing to stop himself.
Shaking his head, the blond-haired man retracts his step and clears his throat. “Is that-” Faltering, he has to do so again. “I mean- ahem, is that so, my darling? You wish to have another ch-child?”
Slightly bemused, you only nod.
But of course, Nanami is paying laser-focused attention to each of your words, your signals. And you can see the bump of his Adam’s apple gulp—as he takes in just what you were implying. Tightening his formal silk tie ‘round his throat, “Then I believe, ah…I believe we should perhaps discuss this a little more. For both our own goods. I’ll be back a little early tonight, and we’ll talk through the um- details, is that alright?”
“Sounds good to me—” You hum, not oblivious to the man’s shattering composure inside. Nanami Kento hid it well - always so stoic, always so sensible, always so respected in his work place. On more than one occasion, you’d gotten comments from tittering women that they only wished they could have a husband that held it together even half as much.
But as his wife you knew it all.
And you knew when there was a chance that this stoic, sensible, stern Nanami Kento was about to…break.
So without a single second of hesitation, your dominant hand reaches out to grab him by the tie- simultaneously straightening it at the middle of his chest and dragging Nanami’s head down to meet yours in a soft, soft kiss. Just the slow slide of your lips. Sensual. “I’ll see you then, Kento.” Murmuring against his lips, you pull away with a smile. “Can’t miss the daily kiss. Have a great day at work~!”
A smile that utterly kills him.
Your husband walks slightly stiffly all the way to the car. And with a final wave, he’s speeding off down the street as if getting to work sooner might just make the day end sooner, as well.
With a slight giggle, you head back inside.
.
.
.
T-minus 4 days until the long weekend.
Unfortunately, that ‘discussion’ had to wait until the day after, because Nanami’s workplace had been overdue on a few proposals (inconveniently misplaced by the new intern, and conveniently handed to your husband). And he’d ended up driving back home past 12AM, after you’d already put both the kids down to bed.
With you so tired after a long day of taking care of the house and waiting up for him, how could he possibly even think of infringing on your precious hours any longer?
So all Nanami had done was clean himself up hastily, and carry you back to your shared bedroom where you’d been drowsing on the living room couch. Cuddling you to sleep. Promising that you’d talk about it the day after.
You understood, of course.
You and Nanami had been together for about twelve years, after all (if you wanted to know the exact date, down to the number of hours and minutes, you could ask him and he’d certainly remember). From lovers to a married couple, to being blessed enough to adopt Yuji and Choso when they were young.
Despite two bustling boys, you had to admit that yours and Nanami’s sex life hadn’t exactly died down.
Just a sneaky quickie before anyone woke up…perhaps getting handsy underneath the covers after a long day….And with Yuji now old enough to share a room with his older brother (they’d been begging for bunk beds for too long), you could finally start having sex at home again.
Perfect.
Right?
Except, well, it wasn’t exactly the same as it once was—
“N-ngh, fuck…” Your jaw drops open with a sloppy moan, saliva cascading out of you with a splosh! just as soon as Nanami’s stuffing you all the way to his hilt.
Here was the result of your ‘discussion’ tonight - if you could even call it that.
The trimmed golden hairs decoratin’ his base carnally scratch your clit, and you’re lewdly grinding yourself backwards. Every tiny movement leaves him stirring up your insides oh-so-perfectly, and your body wracks with shivers. “Please- please, Kento. S-start moving…”
“So needy.” Nanami’s crinkling his straight nosebridge as he stares you down, with your spine curved perfectly back into him. Those plump lips of his kiss a line down your back—long tongue coming out to taste your skin. “Missed you s’much. Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you-”
And with that, he gives a heaving thrust that makes you gasp and grab at the rickety headboard. You could feel the plumpness of Nanami’s tip throb-throb-throbbing at your throat- “Missed you, too. Been wantin’ for you to- ngh, fuck me so bad, baby.”
“N’ that’s exactly what I’m about to do.” He’s smugly crooning out, the curvature of his shaft just lightly puckering up at your sweetest spots - Nanami had you mapped out exactly.
Hard and fast.
Moving in slight bucks and grinds.
Smearing his reddened, swollen tip against your tender insides.
“Exactly about to fuh-fuck you until that pussy’s all satisfied.” The toned lines of Nanami’s hips rut into you like such an animal- and his meaty thighs push you further and further up the springy mattress. “To fill you up.” Leaving you whining wildly at his spears. “To pound a ba- mm.” Leaving you limp under his touch, leaving him reaching his hands over and cupping your tits so that he can manhandle you upright and at his mercy when-
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
“Momma? Papa?”
And that was exactly why it wasn’t the same as before.
You freeze instantly.
Tiny sniffles ring out from the other side of the door, and the locked door handle jingles to no avail. Yuji’s small, scared voice pipes up, “Momma, I frew up…”
You look at Nanami, and Nanami looks at you.
“Shit.”
“Shit-”
He’s easing out of you with the loudest, messiest sluuuuurp—! Multiple ribbons of slick n’ precum combine to form a sheen that glues the insides of your thighs together, and you’re shivering at the feeling of his wide girth pulling out.
Letting off a slight noise of discontent as your walls clench emptily, cunt throbbing angrily for him to fuck you again. Your hips buck in primal instinct as you watch Nanami tuck himself back into his pants and put on his large shirt, though you have to hold yourself back - you were missing him already.
“Shhhh, shhh.” Nanami’s clammy palm rests down on your sticky thigh, and he’s carressin’ the skin there back and forth to soothe you. It works…somewhat.
And you’re making to move off of the bed, “I’ll get-”
“No, let me.” Firmly, he’s pinning you back down just with that singular, clammy palm plastered to your thigh. Just that show of his strength is enough to make your glistening hole throb once more- and you’re forced to bite down on your lower lip to stop yourself from making a noise.
He lovingly taps your leg, and lets the bedframe creak in agony after him (you felt much the same). Nanami hums, “I’ll take care of it. You just get some rest, my darling. You did so well.”
You’re burying yourself underneath the soft covers as the spike of light from the hallway enters the room. Nanami - fully softened now, fully shook of the shreds of carnal desire within him - opens the doorway to crouch in front of his teary son. “Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll read you a bedtime story, how about that, sunshine?”
The pink-haired boy nods, “Mhm!”
By the time he got back, you were peacefully slumbering away.
Nanami Kento only fixed the straps of that cute nightgown you were donning once more, snuggling up to you underneath the covers with the half-asleep promise of a proper (proper, this time) discussion tomorrow.
.
.
.
T-minus 3 days until the long weekend.
Nanami Kento was hungry.
Famished.
Absolutely ravenous.
He’d made it only two steps after getting home early from work. Inside your sweet-smelling kitchen, the scent of vanilla and summer heat in the air- before your strong husband was sprawling you out across the marble counters and lavishing his long tongue down the side of your cheek.
Swirlin’ tastebuds licking away the smudges of cream on your skin, “Mmm—” Nanami’s groaning against the side of your face, his scorching breath simmering against your flesh. “Something smells…” His fingers slipping down between your trembly legs- “-sweet, darlin’.”
And before you know it - fuck, before you can even think of it - you’re gnawing down on the edge of his plush deltoid.
Your moans cracking at the back of your throat as he’s slipping his way inside, the deliciously curved tip of his cock stuffs against the roof of your cunt. Burrowing out a bruise there that makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull, “Shit- I swear you become bigger- ngh, every time.”
“Mmm, that’s because this pretty pussy’s been missing me too much.” He breathily chuckles, a slight hitch in his breath as your sloppy walls clench. “Probably harder for her to take me every time.”
“No no, I swear—” With a whine, you’re arching your back in a signal for him to rover past your folds even deeper. Teeth setting on edge once one of Nanami’s thick veins grope into your slobbery insides, stretchin’ out your cunt to his sheer size.
He was being so gentle. He was being so loving. He was absolutely ruining your pussy on his half-thrusts- just trying to fit inside.
Probe after probe, the slippery line of his slit leaves your mouth watering. The perfect crevice that renders you babbling away stupidly, “I swear you get even bigger whenever we- hck! talk about—ngh.”
“Yeeees?” There was something wild in your husband’s eyes, boring down at you through his clammy blond strands. It was just so fuckin’ cute the way that you lost your train of thought anytime Nanami’s length went mazing inwards- “Whenever we talk about what, my love? Haaaah, finish your sentences.”
As he tuts you’re gasping—and he knows exactly what you’re alluding to. “Whenever we t-talk about-”
“Mhm—?”
Drooling mouth snapping open, he’s bottoming out. “Ba-” Directly hitting your cervix with the crowned, globular end of his shaft. So, so reddened with need. “Bab-”
“Momma—? Papa—?” A voice calls out, young and painfully oblivious to what was obscured in the kitchen. In the distance, you could hear the slamming of the front door.
A bag being set down on the table.
Footsteps.
Choso’s voice echoes out once more when he doesn’t receive an answer, unused to not having his parents respond to him immediately. You could hear the slight pout in his voice even from here- “Can one of you help me with my homework—?”
Mercifully, Choso doesn’t enter the kitchen - instead, keeping himself confined to the television room where he was starting to set out his school books. Choso doesn’t take a peak at where you’d urgently disjointed yourself from Nanami, smoothing down your upturned skirt and taking a look at the clock-
“Oh my goodness, I forgot his art classes were cancelled today- it’s time already.” You gasp, reading the ticking face of the clock that knew what you two just did.
Apologetically, you’re whipping your face around to face Nanami - who was back to tucking his softened length inside in a way that reminded you of just last night. Despite the slight furrow between his blond brows, Nanami shakes his head understandingly. “S’just time.” He grunts, zipping his pants back up and wiping away the droplets of sweat on his forehead. Your husband kisses your temple, “We’ll find some other time, my love?”
“Mhm.” Heart fluttering at the soft peck, you watch as his hulking frame walks out of the kitchen to help Choso with his homework. “We will…”
Though, a part of you doubted you might.
But you hoped.
.
.
.
T-minus 2 days until the long weekend.
“Fuck…” Nanami’s peering down at you through partially-cracked lids, and from down here it looked as if his molten peripherals were almost made of fire.
Burning straight at you underneath his professional work desk. Trying for al his will not to flutter them shut at the feeling of your lavish tongue gliding down his cock—“Fuck, my love- that mouth of yours is absolute sin.”
He’d been wading through some important work documents before you’d ambushed him in his office. Before you’d simply dropped to your knees and fumbled with his shorts like you were a woman starved.
Lappin’ all over his thick, throbbing like the shiniest of lollipops.
Lick after lick.
Your saliva-glazed muscle flattens over the top of his cock for a few seconds. “Mmm—” You’re vibratin’ out your moans against his length, and it sends sparks travelling all the way down from the line underneath Nanami’s plum-colored tip. Where your husband’s shaft was just dribbling out hot wires of pre down to your tastebuds, puddlin’ all over. “Tastes sho, mmm, nice-”
“Oh- fuck!” His head falls back against the back of his chair, and you catch the way that Nanami’s Adam’s apple bobs at the feeling of your greedy tongue.
Just that sensual ridged texture- fuck, it was all that he could think about. A carnal scratch. The way you were flopping it right out into his most sensitive spots, drag-drag-draaaagging it along his elongated length.
Nanami’s right hand comes down to grip his base, and you’re whining as he lifts his shaft off of your open tongue. With a chuckle, he’s placing his cock side-by-side with your face- and your cunt throbs at the fact that his nine, massive inches looked incredible up so closely.
So sensually rubbin’ his girthy hilt up and down the corner of your mouth. Just teasing.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down—
“Shouldn’t be saying these dirty things with such a s-sweet mouth, y’know?” Nanami tuts, merely lining the edge of your lips with a gloss of your pre. He was so hot and syrupy—practically melting against where your tongue was darting out to try n’ taste him even more. “Should control yourself- what if- fuck.”
“Mmm—” Moaning, you’re managing to press his rotund tip against the middle of your tongue once more, starting to suck.
“What if you say those things and- oh, you’re too loud, hm?” He prattles away still, mouth working overtime whilst you stuffed yours. And yet…and yet even disciplined Nanami Kento couldn’t stop himself from bucking off of his cushiony chair, “What if- haaaah, if you’re too loud and the boys hear-”
“Momma—! Papa—!”
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
Nanami groans, “-us.”
Ah, well…you’re removing yourself from Nanami’s still-twitching cock. Red-hot. Rock-hard.
He was so needy that just wrenching yourself off with a wettened plop! makes Nanami’s hips chase the soft insides of your mouth, a translucent wad of precum spraying out of him instantly.
And as he looks down at you with a dismal face, you’re managing out a smile. “I’ll go see what it is.” And Nanami Kento thinks that he might as well pass out before any ‘next time’- because you’re pressing a chaste peck to his mushroom tip, and pulling his shorts up. “Next time, Kento.”
Nanami puts his face in his hands and lightly groans.
With a huffed giggle, you’re sauntering your way out of the office - knowing damn well just how intensely his eyes were locked on the sway of your hips. The way your thighs were more clenched than before.
“Alright-” Unlocking the firmly-shut door (thank goodness for Nanami’s foresight), you’re met with the tear-stained face of your oldest son. Snot-faced and bawling.
Your brows raise right up to your hairline as you take in the vision of your usually-calm Choso, turning your sights to his (only slightly tear-stained) younger brother beside him. Yuji, who hurries to explain what his brother couldn’t- “I wanted bubba’s comics but bubba wanted bubba’s comics, so then we got into a- um, ah…” Slightly squirming underneath your stare, your boys knew you hated when they fought. “-scuffle, and then I got bruised.”
He raises a chubby hand up, and you can easily spot the faint blue-ish mark on his forearm.
Yuji looks at Choso, “But bubba’s the one crying.”
And that was being generous, Choso was all but choking on his sobs. Taking one look at the bruise you were appraising - the place where he’d either directly or indirectly hurt his little brother - and bursting into peels of cries all over again. “I’m so- so- sor- wahhhh—”
“Aaaaalrighty then-” You hasten to pick up your oldest boy, with slight exertion due to his size. Though when you finally do succeed in hoisting him onto your hip, he wraps his arms around your neck and buries his wet face into it. “Now, how about we go downstairs and make ourselves a cup of hot chocolate, hm?” It seems to calm Choso down a bit. “Maybe we can even watch a movie- a movie night?”
“Yippeeee—” Yuji squeals, arms raised as if he wanted to be carried, too. “Me as well?”
“All of us.” Comes a deep voice, and Nanami’s finally making his way out of the office. Having calmed himself down, he carries his younger son and places an innocent peck on your temple.
Choso gags, “Bleh!” Whilst Yuji only giggles - and despite the slight embarrassment coursing through your body at your husband’s obvious loving gesture, you were glad to have Choso express anything other than sadness.
You’re starting to walk as a family, “Now, who’s up for some Kpop Demon Hunters?”
“Meeeee–!”
.
.
.
T-minus 1 day until the long weekend.
“Fuck-”
“Kento-”
“Fuck, just a bit-” He’s hotly whispering into your shoulder, blond strands tickling your skin once Nanami’s jerking his hips back and rutting them into yours. You could feel his thick, throbbing erection against the globes of your ass cheeks - so hard by now that you could count every throb.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump-
And with every furious pulsation, he’s jerking his pelvis forwards- almost thrusting. Dry humping you like an animal in heat. “Just- just a little bit.” So rough that the sheer force leaves you bending even deeper against the dining table, and Nanami has to loop his greedy hands underneath your body n’ jerk you backwards. Push. Pull. “Just want to feel you a little bit- haaah- my love.”
“You’re being so- oh.” Even though you both still had your clothes on, Nanami’s pryin’ aside those flimsy panties of yours to let his bulge smear against your naked cunt. “-so insatiable, Kento.”
And with a few more vulgar strokes, he’s finally answering. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you all day- no, all week, darlin’. I’ve been running into that damned office bathroom to fuck my fist like some- ngh, fuckin’ teenager all week now.”
“Oh, Ken—” With a mewl, you’re grinding your hips backwards- but the friction just wasn’t enough.
Just wasn’t the feeling of his incredible cock splitting apart your insides, and the way that you knew he could fill out your every orifice so perfectly leaves you wanting more, more, more. So without thinking much - without thinking at all, really - you’re whipping your body back around.
Nanami grunts at the loss of contact with your drippin’ wet core- only for a brief moment before he realizes what you’re really trying to do. And the blond-haired man eagerly leans his hips forwards when you start to fuss with the buttons n’ zippers on his trousers.
“Shit-” Impatient, you thrust your hand directly down his pants, and Nanami throws his head back with a sultry shiver at the feeling of your ravenous palm.
Accurately cupping his swollen erection, you feel him splurge out a slimy wad of pre at the mere touch. Just so sensitive. “We’re gonna hafta to be quick.” You’re murmuring, back to fiddling with his buttons. Pop! Pop! “Before they come back-”
SLAM!
“Momma, what’s for dinner?”
Pop!
The last of Nanami’s buttons are torn open- right before they’re forced back shut at the sound of your sons entering the home. It’s a team effort by the both of you, and you’re just barely putting your rumpled clothes back in place, making sure anything was covered, ready to act like everything was normal before-
“Oh, shit.” Your eyes drop back down to the place between your husband’s legs.
His erection had softened by now, and there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary…except for the massive stain of syrupy slick that’d been left by your grinding, gyrating cunt. It darkens the beige fabric of Nanami’s trousers like a puddle, glistening in the yellowish yolky lighting of the kitchen. Your hands are on him immediately - though, not like earlier. “Shit, Kento, you’re going to have to go-”
“Go?” Nanami balks, but he doesn’t resist when you start pushing him out of the second entrance to the kitchen. “Go where?”
The house you’d chosen for your family was one of those large, more open plans; and the kitchen itself had one entrance for those who accessed the house by normal means, and then one more entrance that opened up to the bottom of the house’s staircase. Ones that you lead him up the first few steps of, “Go change those pants!” You squawk. “I tell them that you’re- I don’t know, showering, or something!”
“Good thinking, my love.” He chuckles, clearly finding amusement in your panicked charge. With his palms raised in surrender, he’s making his way up- though, not before landing a peck on your forehead once more.
“Now!”
“Aye aye, my madam.”
Nanami (and his stained trousers) just barely makes it out of the kitchen before the boys walk into the kitchen, mud-stained and slightly out of breath still.
“Cho!” You’re admonishing before they’re able to take their seats, “How many times have I told you not to put your skateboard on the dining table? We eat there.”
“Yes, momma.” The dark-haired boy recites, listening to what you were saying and placing it on the floor. As he kicks it out of the kitchen, he turns to you and asks- “Where’s papa?”
Turning your back to your sons, you’re fussing over the dishes set on the kitchen counter now - what you were doing before you’d been…interrupted, that is. “Papa wanted to take a shower, it was getting a bit ah- hot in here.”
“This time of year?” Choso raises a brow, but doesn’t question it any further.
“Anyways-” You hasten to change the subject, “-why are you boys in so early today? Papa and I had just barely gotten started on dinner.”
And at this, Yuji jumps up in his seat- eyes sparkling as he slams his hands down on the table. “Oh, momma, you’ll never believe it. So Nobara said she had to go to some dentwist’s appointment and Megumi was feeling sick- so I went with bubba’s friends but then we decided to do some exploring- and then there was also this ice cream truck that—”
And so it went on. By the time that Yuji was done with his (condensed for your enjoyment, according to him) version of events, Nanami was back downstairs in a new pair of unstained trousers. The two of you quickly wrapped up dinner preparation, and used the boys’ help to set out the food.
In less than an hour or so, you were all seated around the rectangular table.
Nanami beside you, and your sons in front of you.
“So-” And, to your surprise, he’s the one starting off the conversation. Dinner always was quite a lively event with the four of you, with either you or Yuji being the ones that dominated the nightly discussions most days.
But to have Nanami be the one to start off? It must be something quite important…
So you all turned towards him, excited to see what he had to say.
He gulps down a bite of rice, and continues. “Remember that starting tomorrow there’s a long weekend, my loves. Monday is a holiday.” Nanami addresses all of you, in that soft tone that always makes you melt. Yuji cheers at the mention of such a thing- “It’s rare that we get a treat like this to be together, and I wanted to know what you all wanted to do on those days?”
“I’m fine with anything.” You hum, turning to Yuji and Choso.
“Something fun.” Choso stares off into space ponderously, “Maybe like to the park? Or a resort?”
You nod, “Fancy, I like it. And what about you Yuji?”
And, dear little Yuji - who’d been so patiently waiting for his turn to speak, who oh-so-sweetly hadn’t wanted to speak over anyone else - simply just burst. “Joypolis!” He stands up on his seat, and you don’t even have the heart to tell him to sit back down properly. Chanting, “Joypolis! Joypolis! I want to go to Joypolis—”
Choso’s eyes light as well, excitedly- “Oh- oh, can we?” Turning to face the two of you with pleading eyes.
And, of course, you’re turning to exchange a look with Nanami.
“Of course!”
You’re humming thoughtfully, “And since it’s for a few days, I’d heard of this really nice resort nearby that I think would be a nice place to stay at? We could make it a long stay for Saturday and Sunday, and come back on Monday morning.”
Expectedly, Yuji bursts into even more cheers.
“It’s settled then-” Nanami speaks over the cacophony of voices- and what was clearly not settled were the two boys, who were having trouble listening to your calls to not jerk the table lest they wanted to splash over the food. “Kids, listen to your momma.” Until, finally, some semblance of silence broke through—“We’re going to Joypolis.”
“Yippeeeee—!”
“Hell yeah-”
“Cho, language…”
Nanami chuckles, about to say something more about the plans for the weekend when-
BZZZZZZZZZZZ—!
In your peripheral, you see Nanami reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. Clearly, you imagine, it must be something important for him to forgo (his own) rule about no devices during dinner time. And you’re watching on in slight curiosity-
“Oh.” Nanami’s mouth slightly parts, a somewhat surprised expression dazzling his face. The longer the phone call goes on, the more dazzled he grows. “Oh?”
By then, even Choso and Yuji had quietened down. And you’re tugging on his elbow in slight concern, “Something the matter, Kento?”
He’s shaking his head, attention still on the call. “Oh?” Perhaps unable to communicate anything more eloquent, whoever was on the other end of the line seemed to have said something that made one of his blond brows raise. And for his tongue to finally work, “Have the kids stay overnight?”
.
.
.
T-minus 0 days until the long weekend.
In other words: 9 hours and 17 minutes into the long weekend.
Also in other words: 9:17AM, Saturday.
According to what you, Yuji, and Choso had derived from your instant interrogation after Nanami had set down the phone- it seems that your mother-in-law had won a raffle just that day. The prize? Tickets to a two-night trip to the hot springs of Oita.
Three of them - and she claimed that she didn’t want to spend the holiday with her friends who couldn’t move as well as they were once able to. Might as well give the kids the time of their life, huh? There was much to see in Oita, and they were practically bouncing out of their seats once Nanami had announced the change in plans - neither had been upset about the postponement of Joypolis, either!
With their sheer excitement, the two of you had trouble setting them down for bed. And they’d been jumping on yours like a trampoline before the clock had even hit five-
“After all—” Nanami’s mother had crooned, her eyes wrinkling prettily at the ends as she smiled - Nanami had her eyes, and her smile. The very same dimple at the end of her lips, “-it’s a lot of work taking care of kids, isn’t it? Oh, I was blessed to have one as sensible as Kento, but even then…”
“Certainly is.” You’re chuckling, setting the boys’ luggage down inside her house - one lil’ Spiderman suitcase, and another that was just pitch-black in color (it’d been a long night sorting and packing).
She’s nodding her greying-blonde head, “It’s important that the two of you spend some time together, too. Can’t forget that you’re lovers, as well as parents.” Looking towards your husband, who was firmly giving Choso instructions on how to keep him and his brother safe throughout all times of the trip.
You can feel your veins bubble up, and hope that the sinful evidence of these past few days don’t show up in your expression. “Th-that’s true, it’s quite important to have time for each other.”
“Besides- I’m sure the children don’t mind spending some time with their grandma, hm?” As Nanami finishes off his lecture, your two sons run towards their grandma and hug her tight- agreeing in tandem.
“I can’t wait for the hot springs! Bubba says he’s going to teach me cool new swim tricks, grandma-”
“That are within papa’s safety guidelines.” Choso gulps, feeling his father’s burning stare already. “And all end up with the both of us, as well as grandma, coming home to mama and papa safe and sound and perfectly alright. With no limbs missing and also no ugly souvenirs- only pretty ones, because momma deserves only the prettiest ones.” He recites, beaming back at Nanami’s bemused expression.
Your husband stands next to you and shrugs at your deadpan gaze.
With delighted laughter, Nanami’s mother looks up at the two of you. There was a somewhat knowing look in her eye- “You two don’t mind, do you?”
You glance at Nanami.
Nanami glances back.
You know you’re both thinking the same thing.
In unison—
“I-if you insist!”
.
.
.
10:08AM, Saturday.
A tender goodbye.
A hasty drive home.
A slam! of a door that you’re only later recognizing as your home door.
You could barely even remember anything before you’re suddenly back inside your home and turning to Nanami with a meaningful, “Kent-”
His lips are on you instantly.
Teeth clawing.
Moaning.
Ravenous.
“Fuck- shit, you’re so—” You’re languidly gliding your hands down Nanami’s front, feeling the way his ripped muscles ripple n’ flex through his thin shirt.
And Nanami’s panting so hard that every scorching breath simmers against your face, and as you speak- your husband’s gripping you easily by the back of the throat to re-slot your mouth over his. Unable to even speak past his crashing, open-mouthed kisses.
You’re whining as you tug down on his cold belt buckle, “Kento- mmpf, I want- fuck.”
And before you know it, you’re being pushed against the closest flat surface that Nanami Kento can find. You’re being shoved against the wall. You’re being pinned by the strength in his hips- grinding the raging hot erection already between his legs.
“Hngh, fuck.” You’re hearing him snarl in a ragged tone behind you, kissing your neck, your shoulder, down the length of your spine. “Fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck.” Each one was faster than the last, smooch after smooch after smooch, and there’s a dull thud! ringing out across the empty house when Nanami’s knees finally hit the floor.
“Oh my-” Shivering once his roughened fingertips latch onto your easy skirt n’ flips it upwards. You’re left practically bare, with only your flimsy cotton panties on as he holds up your skirt and shoves his handsome face nose-deep between your folds.
From behind.
Letting the straight edge of his nose bridge plap against your cunt, your jaw drops once you feel your husband filthily breeeeeeathe in—“Fuh-fuck, darling.”
Your knees feel weak already, “Kento, are we really just going to do this over here-”
“No.” Comes Nanami’s guttural mutter and oh…by the husky need in that tone, you already know that he’s far from sane. Already gone. “No, not at all.”
“Really?” Brows slightly raising, you almost want to look back- when another one of Nanami’s hands reach over and flip your restless body around. It doesn’t take him much to manhandle you with his incredible strength.
Your back against the wall. Your glistening cunt facing his mouth.
You’re still standing up. But one of your legs is being picked up and thrown over his broad shoulders, now you’re being held up with partially his support - mostly his support, you imagine.
And it’s with this position that he can take a goooood, long look at your pussy. Your puffy folds spreadin’ open. Your hole clenching around nothing. She was just so dripping wet with your honeyed sap, streaming right down your thighs—“No- don’t you worry, darling.” He mutters, and you wonder just who he’s talking to - you or your pussy, right now.
“Don’t worry, because…?” You’re babbling out.”
“Because-” Nanami’s gusting out with his hot, sticky breath clinging to your cunt. And he’s leaning in closer, closer, so much closer. Until the curve of his attractive chin edges towards the end of your cunt, “-because m’gonna take you here.”
And then your body flinches with a shock of pleasure as he leans his plump lips in and presses a firm peck to the front of your pussylips.
Sloppy and wet.
“And on the dining room table-” Mwah! “And in my office-” Mwah! “The kitchen-” Mwah! “And the- fuck, the bedroom-” He’s snarling, dimpled lips curling as he sniffs your sweet folds once more. “-gonna take you all over the fuckin’ house-”
All those promises - he can’t even finish them before your husband, Nanami, has his face stuffed between your pretty legs and his tongue lapping your cunt like a madman.
Darting to every slippery nook and crevice that his tastebuds can reach- first he’s sliding up n’ down your folds, lapping up the ounces of slick that spray out of you. “Mmmm—” His head throws backwards- or, at least, it tries to. Before that dark, carnal part of Nanami’s own self manages to stop himself, and his quavering hand guides one of yours to grab onto his blond scalp.
“Roughly.” Nanami gasps between your wet pussylips, his drool drenching it in a whole new layer of gluey liquid for him to taste.
Your mouth gapes, “You want it…”
The veins on his large hands pop out as he tightens your fist on his hair, “Roughly.”
Finally letting go of your smaller hands, Nanami’s then holding onto both sides of your waist- practically glued. Pushing and pinning you back down against the cold wall when his tongue slithers out.
So loooooong and lucious, he’s tingling your tastebuds over your swollen clit. “Mmm- mmpf-” Gurgling, gulping, swallowing the cloying wads of syrup that dripped to the back of his throat and alllll over the lower half of his face.
He’s grunting, “So sweet so- fucking- fuck- sweet.” You could feel your husband’s wet lips flapping away at your nub, before they’re finally parting and plunging between your pussylips like he was possessed. “Never gonna get used to this. This pussy- she’s the- hah, sweetest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ tasted- and I think I might just be addicted-”
“Shit- ngh.” You’re clawing at his sweaty scalp for dear life, because Nanami Kento was usually such a gentle lover. Usually so smooth. So slow. But now…“Oh my god- I don’t even want to ask what’s gotten into you today- fuck.”
It takes him a few vulgar strikes with his tongue to even think of responding- to even formulate a coherent enough answer.
And it’s only with a sloppy mwah! that he’s bringing himself to part with your dewy cunt, just the most lecherous damp noise ringing out in the air. When Nanami speaks out, it’s with his ribbons of saliva departing into your quivering hole. “Can you fucking blame me?”
Oh. Your eyes widen, “You- you really are-” Fuck, but his sloppy tastebuds are back to drilling into your entrance. His scratchy tastebuds plaster against the roof of your cunt, back n’ forth. “You really are pussydrunk? But the thing is- already?”
It’s easier for Nanami to detach himself from your damp pussy- with his two thumbs swervin’ down, he’s smearing apart your folds and spitting straight inside your hole once more. “Can- you- fucking- blame- me-”
It wasn’t even a question, and his lengthy tongue probes between your folds after each word. Slipping straight into your deepest depths, with the curvaceous tip of his muscle sticking in, in, in.
Again and again.
Preeeeeeessing into every depth, “Can you fucking imagine what I’ve been going through these- hah, these past days without you?”
“N-no?” His carnal strokes make you throw your head back with a whine, tears starting to bead behind your eyelids. “What have you been- fuck, you’re going in so deep, Kento.”
Though Nanami doesn’t even seem to hear you- “How can you blame me-” Like a mantra, he’s muttering between those swollen pussylips of yours, eating you out so raw that even the slightest movements of his lips make you see stars. “How can you blame me- hah, how can you blame me, how can you blame me—ngh.” The flatness of his sizzlin’ tastebuds moves back and forth into the roof of your cunt, making itself well at home there. “Not when I haven’t had dessert for a week now-”
“Haven’t had dessert?” You’re questioning, your senses slightly hazed by his ministrations between your legs. Is that what he’s been talking about going through? “What do you mean, baby, just last night for dinner we had-”
“No.” He says, meaningfully. And Nanami looks up at you straight in the eyes when he’s spreadin’ that wet muscle of his wiiiide open and probin’ into your hole- “I mean…dessert.”
Your back arches off of the wall, a perfect curvature. “Dessert-”
Your pussy.
Your mewling whines are cut off by the feeling of him pulling out of your cunt with a wet plunge, strings of your slick following his movements n’ still connecting his mouth to your core. There was something crazed in Nanami’s hazy peripherals, something utterly gone. “Yes.” He spits for the nth time into your cunt, swervin’ right past your folds. Pinning you down whilst you try to run, “Don’t you fucking run- don’t you fucking know that she’s my favorite dessert, darlin’?”
And then you sob. With a loud, primal sluuuuurp—Nanami’s splittin’ you apart from the inside.
“And I’ve been without her for too long, my wife.” Perfectly molding your channel to him, the cushy tips of his fingers open your entrance up- and oh, he’s digging them deeeeply into your tiniest orifices. Scissoring in a second finger as if it already wasn’t enough to have his thick joints pushing your insides apart. “How can a husband be expected to go so long without his wife’s pretty pussy?” Gently nibblin’ on your clit, “I’ve missed her.”
“I’ve missed this mouth of yours.” You don’t think you’ll ever get used to just how big his size was, the blustering crowns of his two fingerpads opening up your insides. He filled up every cranny- “Fuck, keep going.”
“You have no idea how- hahhh—” Nanami emits a breathy laugh, like he was in utter disbelief at his own self. And you watch as your husband’s jaw hangs open to collect the glittery wads of slick that constantly leak out of you, “-how fucking thirsty I’ve been. I would eat the sweetest sundaes after work- remember the ones I bought for us? Fuck, just imagining that was you.”
You’re shivering at his admission- he’d what?
But Nanami wasn’t done yet - in fact, he was only lapping away his tongue even harder. And when you get used to the caress of his velvety underside, he’s spanking it down on your clit. “Just wishing that was you on my tongue- but nothing would even come as close.” He gasps, “So now that I have you, oh, I could drink from this pretty pussy for aaaaages with how parched I am.”
You’re tugging at his hair, and Nanami only directs you to pull at him even rougher. To use him. Teasing, “And here I thought that large water tumbler of yours was enough-”
“Oh, my love, it’s not even close to enough- look at this-” You’re being guided to look down at the ropes of sap that he was tunneling out of you- chin hitting your chest. After each movement of his fingers, your slick glazes his wrist in splats.
Sensually, he’s ducking his head down to lick off the polish on his skin. Gleaming like glitter, Nanami moans when the candied taste hits his tongue- “You’re like a fucking waterpark f’me. And I’ve- hah, I’ve been dreaming about her for ages now. Been hungry. Been imagining-”
Lapping and probin’. A third crowned tip rovers inside and starts pushing in and out with the others, “Yes- yes yes yes yes-”
“I’ve had to run to the fucking- ngh, office bathroom more times than I can count.” He admits, spittling between your lips. “All because I spent a whole meeting imagining just how wet you’d feel on my tongue, mmm, like this.”
You’re crying out, bucking your hips into his- and though he might’ve usually pinned your squirming hips down for moving, teasing, now…now Nanami was welcoming those half-ruts. “More- deeper-”
“And look how eeeeeasy I can slip in-” With a final cobweb of saliva, he’s trying to pry inside a fourth finger—managing.
Nanami’s prolonged length empties out right near your cervix with harsh thuds, you could tell that he was searching for that sweet spot inside you.
Babbling away, Nanami seemed to be getting even more drunk on your pussy with each passing second. “Wanted to feel you dripping like this- aaaaaall up in my throat- see- watch.” Your husband commands, and with your head turned down like this you can’t help but watch the way he takes a big swallow of your slick. With a messy glistening face, he grins up at you. “If you could possibly be any- ngh, any fuckin’ wetter then I’d want you to in a second.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter in my life, Kento.” As if to prove your point, even more tear trails of your slick drip down - all for Nanami Kento’s munching delight, of course.
“…Yet.”
And you know one quality that attracted you to your husband the most? It was the fact that, no matter what, he would do what he promised. He would deliver.
Because with a few more sultry slams, his long index is burrowing into your g-spot. Perfectly. It’s as if that bundle of nerves was a target, and Nanami’s able to slide his trimmed nails right where you wanted him to.
Your knees bend limply as the pleasure hits you, and you wail. “Oh- there!” Too gone in your own bliss, he’s actually holding up your weight with one of his strong arms now, looped at your waist.
“Found it.” You can feel his grin against your entrance, “And you did get wetter, my love—”
And he’d found it, alright. Constantly thump-thump-thumpin’ away near the back of your pussy with his relentless fingers, Nanami made sure that the plush pads of his digits would then graze your nerves- making you twitch n’ whine n’ buck in pleasure maddeningly.
“I- I don’t think-” With one of your legs raised upon his shoulders, it was just so easy to squeeze Nanami’s bobbing throat. Almost suffocating him. You blurt, “I don’t think m’gonna last long, Kento-”
“Good.”
The firmness with which he says that one word makes your entire body quiver- and you don’t know whether it’s because of his purely carnal tone, or the way he slithers his fingers inside your cunt, presses down on your g-spot and holds it there.
Unmoving.
No matter how much you squirm or whine.
And Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before he’s immediately trying to topple you over the edge of your high, “Because you don’t have to.” He pants, “Your dear husband is here for a- hah, a reason, my wife. Don’t you know?”
“A- a reason.” You’re babbling, and you don’t know which one of you is more gone by this point.
You’re having trouble holding yourself up, and Nanami claps his chin against the end of your cunt with enough pressure to keep you standing straight. His tongue teasingly rolling out over your clit, “M’here to make you cum.” Push after push, thud! after thud! “Because don’t you know…”
“Don’t I know- fuck, don’t I know what?”
His grin is just sinful—“Don’t you know that you taste sweeter when you cum, my love?” Said in such a tender tone, even though the slashes of his fingers were anything but.
In next to no time, you’re gripping one hand into Nanami’s hair and the other onto his shoulders as you cum all over his mouth. It’s in invisible waves ridden straight from the tip of his nose n’ down to lacquer his chin with gleam, “C-cumming.” Even though he already knew, “M’cumming, Kento. Cum- fuck, s’the best I’ve ever had.”
“Mmm, why thank you, darling.” He’s crooning out lovingly, not even a hint of teasing as he takes it on. All your pushes and bucks- until the skin ‘round Nanami’s mouth was red and raw.
Until his jaw aaaaaached.
And yet, he’s still eating you out through your high, the sparks of bliss absolutely leave you shaking. Toes curled. The top of your crown feeling light and airy- “Think you’ve fucked me- ngh…” Stupid. Even though you don’t say it out loud…at least, you don’t think you do.
But Nanami puffs out a slightly drunken giggle between your pussylips as he hears that word leave your mouth - without you even knowing. Realizing. Dutifully, your husband doesn’t tease you as he plunges his tongue in n’ out, in n’ out. “C’mon- c’mon, c’mon- oh. I was right, you do taste so sweet.”
You’re whimpering as he pulls his fingers out, feeling your convulsing shockwaves peter out into almost nothing.
And even then, Nanami rolls his thick thumb over your clit a few times- just to watch you shake and whine prettily above him. “Done cumming?” He asks, once he feels your body go slightly wobbly. And when you nod- “But I really do wonder if you’d taste even sweeter if I overstim you a little, darling…”
“Oh my god-” Your chin drenches with the spittle that falls out of you unbeknownst to your subconscious, just so sensitive that they’re about the same as the tears dripping from your eyes. “I don’t know if I even can cum so soon again, Kento.”
“We’ll never know until we try.”
He’s tracing squelching wet—hearts?
It feels even more teasing than usual when Nanami’s fingers are toying with your clit, because right now he’s drawing the cutest patterns to watch you react. The way you flinch even more when he draws a big heart- and that cute hitch in your breath when it’s a little one.
“So cute…” Nanami groans, fingers nothing but a blur on your cunt. Spreadin’ you wide open, you can’t believe that your husband then has the audacity to bear his canines and gnaw down on your puffy pussylips. “So sweet-”
“Kento-” You bawl, the pleasure making your senses all bleary. “K-Kento-”
“Oho?” Those blond brows of his raise in interest, and through your tears you can make out the pinkish outline of his tongue coming out to taste his slick-glossed lips. Purring, “It tastes like you’re going to cum again, my love.”
And that’s exactly what you do.
Hard and fast. This one takes you by surprise, just a surge of white-hot electricity that shoots up your spine and leaves your thoughts all muddled.
And, just like before, he’s dragging you through it incredibly. Through every peak of euphoria. Through every flash of bliss every time his slurpin’ tongue accidentally slipped past your entrance when he was sucking you dry.
“Cum- fuck, I’ve already….” Mouth dry. Body shaking. By the time that Nanami’s lengthy tongue has finished lapping up every droplet of your slick, you’ve felt thoroughly fucked through your orgasm. You honestly wouldn’t even have been able to keep yourself standing had it not been for his unrelenting grip on you, refusing to let you fall.
You lean onto his support, feeling your joints protest at the long time you’d spent in this position. “Kento, now I really don’t know if I can cum any- hck! more.”
But Nanami Kento could read what you were saying without saying.
He knew you well enough.
And you knew he did.
Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean he sure as hell wasn’t allowed to try.
In an instant, your husband’s pulling away—mwah! All that sloppy slick that he wasn’t able to swallow now drips all the way from the tops of his cheekbones, and all the way down his chin. Partly down his neck. Nanami then grips your hips with a loving, pussydrunken smile. “But, when I have a wife that looks like you, my darling, how can I not make you cum?”
Oh.
11:57AM, Saturday.
“Oh my g-god—” Your voice is cracking out in both sobs n’ whines, dribbling out saliva like slick as Nanami’s rutting his naked hips against the globes of your ass cheeks.
It’d taken your husband only a few minutes to manhandle you from the threshold of your house entrance down through the house. Having to hold you up where you were so overstimulated, he’d carried you princess-style. Where he’d pressed you face-down against the polished mahogany of your dining room table.
All fours. Ass up. Cunt dripping.
You’d shivered as you heard Nanami’s pants hit the floor- his belt ending up in a heap with the rest of it with a loud clang! of metal on tile. And he was simply oooozing out thick pre at the sight of you bent over for him like this, just smearin’ it down your pussylips so that it looked like a gloss. “Mmm—” Nanami grunts out from behind you, his mouth watering at the hot feeling. “So pretty like this, my wife- fuck, so pretty.”
And you’re clawing onto the wood - trying not to make too much of a mess (you’ll have to disinfect this entire house, later) - as he just lightly smooooches your tight orifice with his mushroom tip. “Sh-shit- you’re so hard, Kento.”
“Mhm–” Nanami huffs out smugly- so drunk on his cock, you were craning your head over your shoulder to take a good look at him. “Admiring your husband?”
“Yes.”
In all his rock-hard glory. Nine entire inches.
Veins were zig-zagging down Nanami’s shaft, and they end where his sparse golden hairs start to decorate his hilt. He was just aaaaching to enter you- plump tip colored the prettiest shade of pink, almost as if his painful cock was almost shy to meet your cunt.
You can’t help but notice that it matched the blush creeping up on your husband’s ears, as he leans down and purses his lips to spit straight down to your cunt. Hitting his target dead-on, Nanami grins- “I wonder why we haven’t done it like this sooner, daring?” One of his hands attach to the side of your hips, and he’s just smearin’ apart your folds to take a good look inside. “Before me I see the tastiest fucking dinner I’ve ever seen-”
“Y-you’re so filthy, Kento.” You almost can’t even believe your ears, and you arch your back into his touch. Hamstrings quivering when you nudge your hips up into his, “Why don’t you just f-fuck me already- oh.”
“As you wish, my madam.”
Because he’s already entering you as you squeak out your demands - Nanami Kento was never a man that would leave his wife yearning and wanting, of course.
Anything you wanted, it was yours.
And the same went for his throbbing, hot cock- just the curved end of his shaft plops inside your elastic hole. Because of his sheer girth, Nanami doesn’t even have to try to push apart your tight pussylips - you’re already opening up lewdly for him.
With a cracked whine, your snug channel is gobbling his inches up with a sluuuuurp—making the blond-haired man raise his brows with a chuckle. “Oh- oh, my god.” He pants, breaths coming out ragged. “Ohhhh fuck- you’ve been needy, my wife.”
“I’ve been- hah, been what?” Pathetically, you can only turn your face ‘round to meet his and take it- because Nanami wasn’t letting you off easy just because he was rovering his thick cock inside.
No…in fact, he was pounding and pounding his flared tip past your tender orifice- or, at least, he was trying to. Despite the slight resistance of your tightness, Nanami has one hand on your hips, dragging you back into him with each thrust. “Fucking- needy-”
“Not as much as you.” You’re protesting, feeling the wetness of his precum mix with your slick to travel downwards. “You’ve been the one eating me out like you’re addicted-”
“And you’re the one swallowing me down like you’re trying to suck me dry, my love.” He’s bickering back gently, “Or…” And there was a tinge of something in his carnal tone that makes you shiver, “-should I put all the blame on her instead?”
Her.
Your sultry, wet pussy.
The one he was probin’ his split-ended cock into. The one that was making him grunt after every one of your slight squeezes. The one that was so cozily tight that Nanami had to hold onto your hips and jerk you backwards to try and fit himself all inside.
Jerking and pulling.
Manhandling.
When he feels the tight shield of you still trying to get used to his sheer size, Nanami properly loops his arms ‘round your thighs. And then he’s fucking holding you up- your heels dangling off the tile, your body supported only by the dining table and your husband.
Your geysering cunt purely at the mercy of him, him, him.
“O-ohhhhh, this pussy.” As he sinks in, it’s so good that Nanami hunches his bulky body over - as if he was breaking apart on your hole. Properly in half, breaths heaving out. With every inch of his globular cockhead spearing inside, you can feel Nanami grow more and more feverish. “Oh this pussy- oh, this- this pussy-”
You’re moaning at his broken mantra, “Nanami, are you fuck- alri-”
“The first time in- in what feels like ages that m’getting to fuck you the way I’ve been aching to.” He’s spitting out - literally, back down your sultry slit to make you even wetter for him. And with that, Nanami’s voice veers octaves higher. Crazed. “And you ask me whether m’fucking alright, darling?”
“Well I’d say you were becoming- ngh, pussydrunk already.” You’re whining out, staring into Nanami’s eyes and oh—they were so dilated.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen them this dilated.
They always were, whenever he was gazing at you. But to this extent? It seemed as if his entire iris had just turned back, and Nanami Kento was hanging on your every word, your every breath. You’re whispering, “But…but I think you’re even past that now.”
“P-pussydrunk?” He breathes out the word as if it was a joke- spits it out in almost distaste. Which was strange…because it was honestly one of his favorites. “You think I’d be pussydrunk by now?”
Confused, “Y-yes?”
Before you’re being shocked by a sudden burst from his hips, his meaty thighs striking the backs of yours until his skin there turns red. His blustering tip scrape-scrape-scrapes your insides carnally, and you can feel the line of his slit driving in even deeper.
“Oh, honey- oh, my love- oh, my wife…” Nanami’s droning on out, and if you were in any better state of mind then you’d have realized that the usually-eloquent Nanami Kento was slurring. Smack! Through your kaleidoscope of tears, you’re registering that the skin of his pelvis had just slammed into yours, a stinging impact.
Your husband pliably scoops you up, dragging your hips back down his shaft as if you were nothing but a ragdoll. Your gummy channel was being meshed apart for his upright erection, sliding down it slooooowly. Bit by bit. Inch by solid, throbbing inch. “Don’t you know that- hah-” Until you were fully bottomed out, “-I’ve been pussydrunk aaaaall week?”
All week?
Your mouth opens - perhaps to question him, perhaps to counterpoint him - but the only thing that echoes out is a sensual whine as he then starts ramming into you at a sloppy cadence.
Sloppy and fast.
Hard.
Nanami’s pulling all the way back till juuust the crown of his red tip kissed your entrance, then shoving back in until the hilt. Your orifice stretched all widely open ‘round his base, the spattering of curly golden hair tickling your folds. “Don’t you know?” Your husband asks, “Didn’t you know I’ve been- hngh, ruined on your pussy all week?”
“Ruined?” You repeat, clawing onto the table for some semblance of stability. “But we haven’t even properly-”
“Exactly.”
Oh.
He was now rutting into you like an animal, the curve of his luscious tip swabbin’ at your every ounce of space. “You don’t know how fucking greedy- how impatient I’ve- hah, I’ve been-”
And that surprised you, “Impatient?” Though, he was certainly fucking you like it. After every rugged bash of Nanami’s cockhead, he was surging back in for more - barely even letting the springy recoil of your walls start before he’s plummeting back in.
Again and again.
A particularly hard thud! has you feeling him at the back of your throat, and your cheeks stain with a few lacquer of tears. “I almost can’t believe that- oh-”
He’s pinning down your squirming hips, and you can feel the line of Nanami’s happy trail scritch-scratch your skin. “I am not a patient man, my wife.” He says, darkly. Holding you down whilst he fucks you like a madman- “I could barely hold myself back this entire week- could barely- haaah, you don’t know how many times I’ve almost cracked n’ called off work just to be able to stay home and fuck this pussy stupid for a few hours.”
“And- and then?” You’re hiccuping, feeling his slamming tempo get even faster. “Then what?”
“Oh, you’re enjoying this—little slut.” Pure shock sparks down your body at the words he was using - absolutely filthy. “Let’s see how much you like this then-” And before you know it, one of his hands lifts off of your waist to rover down to between your legs.
Nanami’s rough index and thumb pinches your clit- “Fuh-fuck! Kento!”
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He watches with relish as you shake beneath him, “If the boys weren’t there- ngh, you have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just reach over as you ate and pinch this cute clit. Just to tease. Just to see if you’d gasp.”
“Please- please-”
Only toying with your sensitive nub even harder - no matter what, he was always such a rough player. “Wanted to see if you’d scream my, mm, name like that.” Now alternating with his sensual drags of your clit, and rough rolls of his thumb flat. “If this hole of yours would get even wetter because—fuuuck.”
And then the girth of his length starts snaggin’ against your pussy walls, every ounce of blood in Nanami’s body flowing to his cock and swelling it up even further.
“-because I’d sure get harder when you do.”
Just as he said, he had.
Your head lolls stupidly in front of you- but of course, Nanami couldn’t have that. So he’s using his free hand to help you rest your clammy scalp back against his shoulder, so bent forwards that it wasn’t much of a stretch, honestly.
Like any good husband, Nanami Kento wanted to gaze lovingly into your eyes will he fucked you deep.
“Aaaand then there’s this spot-” Plop! The raw vibrations start from where he’s bashing in your g-spot, set your teeth utterly on their edges. He angles his hips so that it digs a pretty bruise right there on your nerves, “-this spot that I looooove- n’ I know she loves me, too. Because she’s- haah, squeezing me so tight- never wants to let me go-”
“Right there-” You cry out, as if that wasn’t already obvious. “There there there there- faster, Kento.”
Precisely, Nanami’s smoochin’ away at your g-spot - with such incredible accuracy that your dazed mind starts to wonder whether he has some sort of superpower that lets him calculate the ratio. The speed of his hips- the vulgarity. He’s viciously gnawing down on your ear as you try to buck, “Just how many times have I squeezed my c-cock like this, just imagining that it was you-”
“You h-have?”
“Mhmmm, and all those times I’d fuckin’ salivate just imagining—” There’s almost a pout in his voice, something so starkly cute whilst he tunneled into you savagely. “But it never was quite the same.”
“I thought about you so much, too, Ken.” You admit, your thighs clenching together- which your husband easily swats away to start twisting your clit even harder. “Wanted you to fuck me just like this-”
A sultry smile spreads across his lips, “Oh yeah? And was it just like this?”
“Mhm—” You’re fervently nodding, “Just like this and I- also…” And only at Nanami’s reassuring look do you continue, “…you also had your- hah, your leg up.”
“My leg up?” Nanami asks, “Like…this?”
There’s a thud! and then a clutter once one of his meaty thighs rests up on the table, capped knee coming to rest where your peripheral vision could see. This change in angle made him just enter his round cockhead into completely deeper parts of your womb.
Swirlin’ around your gummy walls, just pushing his bawling divot into spots you didn’t even know existed. Again. And again. And again and again and again—
“And you know what I was fantasizing about?” He’s panting out in scorched waves, hips leaving a fever pitch.
“Wh-what?”
“Ohhh, you know…just like this-” You could hear the grin in his voice, “-fucking you rough. Fucking you hard, feeling your hot pussy for the first time in- hck! ages. I’d been missing her so much, taking her so much. My favorite lil’ meal- oh, I really want to taste you right now…”
Arching your back into his glissading abs, “Kento, don’t stop. I feel like I’m about to-” Cutting yourself off with a breathy intake of air when he’s drawin’ hearts on your pulsating nub.
“Oho–? Then perhaps I should go on- I was thinking of you exactly like- ngh, this, my love. Except for one key difference…”
“And that is?”
To answer your question, Nanami gets up reeeeal close in your ear- he glides his hot lips down the side of your face, letting his breath send shivers skittering down your spine. “It’s that not only was I fucking you rough, darling, I was fucking you with the intention of getting you pregnant-”
And then it’s white-
And you’re cumming.
Surging even harder than any of your ones before, your heartbeat thumps in your ears like a war drum. Body at the mercy of your husband, Nanami Kento, as he bucks and bucks and bucks you through the perfect peaks of your high. Until, ultimately…
“F-fuck.” Even with your popped eardrums, you manage to catch the way that Nanami’s voice breaks as he swears his surrender. The drivelling circle at the end of his cockhead suddenly bursting into his own high- “Fuck, exactly like this-”
Hunching over. Pinning you to the bed.
He’s shoving his leaking cock deep into the goopy crevices of your pussy, letting you flood up with each miry line of his cum. “Exactly like this- just like this-” Nanami’s groaning out, webbing up your sweet insides with his orgasm. “This entire week I imagined pinning you down like- this—”
“Oh, please.” You’re blinking back the stars in your vision as one of his hands lets go to push down your hips. Wrestling you into stillness for a second-
“And then my cum- fuck, your pussy’s so hungry for my ngh, cum. She’s sucking it up like- th-thiiiiis—” You’re feeling the exact moment that even more of his ivory syrup seeps out, trickling against the back of your cervix. He’s fucking you through both of your highs almost aggressively, “And then- and then…”
“And then?”
“Oh, honey—” Nanami grins, like he knew something you didn’t. The hand pinning you down slowly scrapes down until it was plastered against your front, pushing down where a lil’ cumflation was threatening to start. A little bulge. In many ways. “-then you’d be pregnant, is what.”
3:01PM, Saturday.
It was only a few more rounds and a hasty lunch later that Nanami had cornered you again (or perhaps you had cornered him, it was hard to say with just how ravenous the two of you actually were). Until, ultimately, you were perched atop the very kitchen counter that the two of you had made yourselves lunch in.
Your body draped across the frigid counter, your legs in the air.
Cunt directly in the line of sight of your husband, who’d just been hankerin’ for something more…sweet (and had rejected every other dessert option until it came to this).
Nanami’s looooong tongue was dipping in and out of your hole, gathering up all those creamy wads of cum that he’d stuffed in there just moments prior. As if he was forgetting his objective of getting you pregnant- and then starting all over again.
“Mmm—mmpf.” Came his strangled moans, being completely crushed between your legs- and his two hands plastered upon either side of them as if trying to get them to tighten ‘round his neck even more. “What did I say about this being my favorite dessert—?”
Slightly leaning back, you can see the full scope of the messes that you and Nanami have made of each other. Slick n’ white cum glued across his face, a sheen that his tastebuds dart out to lick every ounce of.
Dripping wet.
Plunging in and out.
Lavishing his mouth between your trembly, overstimulated legs for more, more, more. It was just so wet that it felt like you were melting underneath him, with all your excess staining down his throat now.
With a shiver, you’re clawing at Nanami’s blond head and attempting to push him down- “And wh-what have I said about not talking with your mouth full?”
Unexpectedly (or perhaps not, you shouldn’t be surprised by now), this doesn’t deter Nanami a single bit. Doesn’t make him falter a single shred.
In fact, he’s actually wracking with primal shivers, the lower half of his body that was obscured by the angle below ruts—“Ohhhh, love when you go all momma mode.” He’s spitting between your pussylips, plastering those swollen lips of yours to his own. And just bubbling out in dewy wads every time he’s pokin’ his tongue inwards and swirling it all around, “Can’t- hah, can’t wait to make you a momma all over again. Can’t wait to fuck a baby into ya, my darling. All round and glowing and- and mine…”
Faster and faster. You’re wondering just how it was possible for Nanami to talk with his mouth all full, and his tongue working overtime to reach for the hidden spots deepest inside you. “And how will you do that when you’re- ngh, greedy for every drop of…”
He looks up with a darkly amused glint, “Drop of what, my love?”
“Drop of- of cum.” You’re finally managing to shrill out, and you think it may have something to do with the fact that Nanami had finally gulped down any and every bit of evidence of the mess he’d made of you. That glistening lacquer of creamy white not dotted his lips, and he was rovering his mouth over your clit and biting it now-
“Drop of cum, hm—?” Nanami pretends to think, so seriously that it reminded you of the way he’d be when he was in the midst of some important business project. “Oh, you’re right. I do need to fill you up with my cum before I can get you, ngh, pregnant.”
You’re squirming, “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re seriously that gone or not, Kento.”
“H-heh…”
And it seems that that was all the answer you’re getting for that particular answer- as for the other demand of yours, Nanami doesn’t quite answer it until you’re cumming ‘round his mouth all over again.
He licks up the tenderest spots of your insides until you feel yourself tipping over the edge - by now, your orgasm was nothing more than a few tingles that ran from the pit of your belly n’ left you all numb.
All quivering.
You look down and realize, with a jolt, that he’d cleaned you off perfectly - and Nanami Kento always was great with aftercare, but this seemed to be something else entirely. Something filthy. And your cunt almost missed the hot splashes of cum that were once overspilling out of you.
Tears slick down your cheeks and - for the nth time that night - you muse that you can’t possibly cum again, for at least a few weeks.
“Oh yes, you can.” He answers—oh, you’d said that out loud. Fuck. “And you will-” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. With a final few slurping smooches, Nanami wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets up from his place kneeled on the kitchen floor. And you can already see that his dick is rock-fucking-hard-
“After all, I have to fill you all over again, don’t I?”
7:18PM, Saturday.
You haven’t even had dinner yet.
You haven’t even had dinner yet - but Nanami Kento was making sure that you were stuffed.
Like the cutest of lollipops, looooong and hard. His blushin’ cockhead was licked pink at the very tip, dribbling out in wads of precum that leave your tongue feeling all sticky. He pinpoints the salty taste of it right against the back of your throat, and you whine—
“Sh-shoooo- mmpf.” You manage to gurgle out, and by the way that he’s swabbing every inch of your maw with his length- it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you were claiming he was ‘soooo big’.
But Nanami wanted to tease you a little bit…
“What was hah! that, my love?” He’s crooning, overlarge hand coming down where you were seated beneath his meaty thighs. They quiver every time the lavish muscle of your tongue traced his muscles, like that was all it took to leave your poor husband on the verge of breaking.
Oh, and how cute you looked with your angrily furrowed brows, mouth full of his cock, huffing n’ puffing at the question he’d just asked.
You were underneath his office desk by this point, and Nanami’s leaning his body back in his chair to buck up ever-so-slightly inside you. Hushing at you all the while to relax your throat, “Shhh—breathe through your- ngh, nose, darling, breeeeathe. Breathe n’ try to repeat that sentence f’me?”
You’re popping off of his flared mushroom tip with a wet pwah! “But why—? I said you’re so-”
“I want you to say it with my cock in your mouth, m’kay?” Nanami says in that stern tone of his. And you’re letting his massive palm cradle the back of your throat to get you moving your maw over his length once more, nuzzling the curly hairs of his happy trail.
You’re breathing in his musky masculine scent, “Just so mean.” Pouting, and your dear husband already knows that he’s won.
That when you perk your head up, he’ll be guiding his flushed tip to tap-tap-tap against your puckered lips. Your mouth was just so raw from so many kisses that you wince at the stinging sensation, your spit drivelling down both sides of your face.
“I said- hck!” Cut off right as Nanami plugs your dewy mouth hole with his cock, plunging iiiiin—“That you’re so- mmmpf—”
Intentionally, whenever it showed even the slightest signs that you may be emitting any coherent sentences, Nanami would buck his mean hips. Until the toned lines of his pelvis massaged your jaw, he’s lodging his beading cock all the way against the back of your throat- and then has the audacity to coo. “Awww, why aren’t you speaking, darling? I just looove your voice so much.”
“Mmmpf-” You rake your nails down his milky thighs, leaving sinful marks for days. “Hngh-” Slightly managing to find a bobbing pace that let you breath enough, “I said you’re so-”
“Aaaand there we go ag-fuck, again.” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s then reaching over to pinch your two nostrils together. A mean smile twitching at one corner of his mouth as you struggle and claw your way down his thighs even more.
Head bobbing desperately, he’s finding that that cute jaw of yours unhinges even more when he restricted your air like this. Interesting…
Finally - finally - letting go of your only form of breathing, Nanami lets you pull off of his throbbing red cock with a gasp. Lines of miry precum still connecting your mouth to his tip, chest heaving- “Fuh-fuck, Kento. What I was saying was-”
“And how can you expect to teach our new baby all those phonetics if you can’t even- ngh, string together a sentence yourself, my darling? No offense but—oh, fuck, that feels good.” He whispers, shutting you up with his girth once more.
Nanami’s cock was just so wiiiide that he made your mouth create the cutest lil’ ‘oh’ whenever he rammed himself right down to the base. Right. Down to. The. Base.
Your husband airily asks, “Now…what were you saying a-again?”
12:27AM, Sunday.
By this time, you’d finally reached the bedroom - though, only after Nanami had taken you on every single spot inside your shared home and saved your king-sized bed for best and for last.
You were practically running on fumes by this point, and could barely even hold up the messy mating press that he’d pressed you into. With his beefy arms tangled up with yours, his thighs pressed against the backs of yours, cock probing into you deeeeeeep.
You swear you could almost taste the salty sweetness of his cockhead at your throat, just oozing out in creamy white wads- almost as if cumming was a perpetual state that Nanami was in whenever he was inside you from now onwards.
Again and again and again-
“Please!” You’re wetly gasping out, head thrown back into pillows that were drenched with your tears by now. “Please- I think it’s already t-taken by now, Kento-”
“Taken?” Nanami asks, almost in a daze. “Taken- you mean…”
And then you watch - in real-time - as the blond-haired man’s mouth parts ever-so-slightly. As understanding washes over his face. As he’s once again swatting at the door to your womb, and you can feel it splosh! with the overspilling remnants of his ivory sap.
It trickles out of your overworked hole in a line of white, and Nanami languidly rovers his hand over to push back in those excess wads. He grins, “I almost forgot that we were s-supposed to get you pregnant, my darling.” You gawk as he continues, “To be quite honest, I’ve just been- ngh, addicted to your cunt.”
“A-addicted-”
“Can’t pull out.” He admits, slashing rude spanks into the back of your pussy with every hoarse syllable - you’re sure that you weren’t too far behind, and that your voice would give out soon. “Can’t even imagine it- can’t even dream of it-”
You squeal as a hand at your throat helps Nanami pull you back along to every one of his rugged thrusts, his plap-plap-plapping hips almost stinging against yours now.
“All I want is her- all I need to feel—” Growing even rougher with his nudgin’ at your cervix, you wonder whether you might just pass out and see the pearly gates at this rate. “All I need to see- taste- smell- feel—h-hck! Oh, I can feel my cum swirlin’ around inside you- s’like heaven.”
With a shiver, you’re feeling him splat! out a few more wads of ivory white cum, emptying out to add to the rest of the slicked mess he’d made. You might just be reaching your own high, as well, but with how far you were overstimulated- you couldn’t even be sure at this point.
Gasps scorching as he says, “And it makes me…”
Oh, you knew something was coming up when he started speaking like that.
“And- and it makes you?” You claw onto the dampened sheets- you might just have to change them soon, because something told you that you won’t be leaving this bedroom for a while.
“Makes me want to…do it all over again.”
4:56AM, Sunday.
“Get pregnant-” Nanami grunts, furiously pumping his reddened, raw cock inside you. Absolutely furiously. “Get pregnant- get pregnant- get- get pregnant…”
“I think- fuck, can feel it—” You’re sobbing out, holding onto Nanami for dear life by this point.
You were right in assuming that neither of you would be leaving this very bedroom for a while, because it’s hours later and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep - hours later and Nanami Kento was still trying to mold his thick, vein-covered cock to your walls. Still trying to get you pregnant as soon as possible.
Right now, actually.
Not even in a proper sex position by this point (you’d already tried everything there was to try), this was more of a sloppy prone bone. With your legs sprawled behind you, and Nanami’s hulking body melting down into yours.
His abs gluing to your back, his thighs shivering from behind.
He could barely even hold himself up on overworked limbs, and Nanami was left collapsed on top of you. Pinning you down helplessly. Crushing you to his sculptured body, his sweaty abs mingled with your back as he pushes n’ probes n’ cums—“A-another…” Nanami pants, and something wet hits the line of your spine—tears. Nanami Kento was crying overstimulated tears.
“Gonna get you pregnant with th-this one- I can, haaah, feel it, my love.” His hand scours underneath your tummy, and you can feel him preeeeess into the spot of your womb where you were all filled up to the brim. “I just know it- I, fuck, just know this one left that pretty pussy o’ mine pregnant.”
“Of yours?” You’re babbling away, feeling so full. You’d only have done this for Nanami - for his ravenous urge to get you pregnant with your third child.
“Mhmmm, of mine.” He answers, grinding so that his tender ballsack scrapes your puffy folds. “Of my lovely wife. Of the beautiful m-momma to by three beautiful children- fuck, just saying that made me cum again, my love, look at that…heh.”
“I think m’close to…” You’re babbling pathetically, not even sure if you could by now.
But Nanami was probin’ against that spot so perfectly still, and by now your nerves were so tender that every tiny graze sets your teeth on edge. Vision a kaleidoscope of tears- “Kento, I think m’gonna-”
And before you can finish your sentence, you’re cumming.
Well, you’re not just cumming, to be quite honest.
You’re squirting.
Thick, watery splashes of your high that leave your husband’s sloppy staccato faltering for but a few seconds- as he takes in the constant gush of sap that was leaving you. Gush after gush. Directly following the peak after peak of your orgasm.
And what does Nanami do?
Well, other fuck you ferally through your squirtin’ high, that is? He’s slithering a hand down to roll over your clit whilst you cum, making you whimper at the delicate feeling.
Intentionally, he’s drenching his skin all a gleaming sheen to- fuck, to bring up to his gluttonous maw and lick off—
“So…baby names, my wife?”
.
.
.
1:26PM, Sunday.
You think you might have passed out some time after you’d squirted, and slept straight through until it was past noon. When you’d awoken, you discovered that you’d actually been…cleaned off and tucked safely under the covers.
The bedsheets had been changed, too, with one of your favorite pillows fluffed underneath your head. Blankets raised high. Food on your bedside counter in case you’d woken up hungry. And your husband cuddled up beside you, waking up to your lethargic movements.
Of course, he’d taken you then, too.
It’d been slooooow and sleepy this time- and you think that Nanami had barely even registered the fact that he was awake before his primal mind was immediately filled with the urge to impregnate, impregnate, impregnate.
A slight tear track lined down his handsome cheek and to his (thoroughly bitten) throat once he pressed his plummy cockhead inside- smiling at the whoosh of cum that’d just splashed out of you. “Hungry, my love?”
“Not that much-” You’re answering, “Since we already…” Only- you realize that your husband wasn’t looking at you at all.
He was looking at…
A wet sluuuurp emanates once your entrance swallows his cock past your puffy pussylips, welcoming the lines of Nanami’s veins back inside once more- oh, how the tiniest of crevices inside you had missed him already. “Oh, you had been hungry.” He titters, almost to himself. “Look at you g-go-”
You’re yelping as he bottoms out, “So you were talking to-”
“Oh? What’s that?” Knowingly, Nanami’s cupping his ear to lean down and listen- the most lecherous of noises once he ruts in and out of your treacly cunt. In and out. In and out. In and out. “Uh uh? Uhhh uh—oh, I see-”
With his devilish eyes, he’s turning towards you and you almost flinch at the look in them-
“She says the baby’s hungry, my wife-” One of his hands ends up on your right tit, and Nanami brings your hardened nipple up to his mouth to suck—and, oh, the poor thing was sensitive? It made you thrash?
Worry not, because in a singular fluid motion, Nanami’s reaching over towards the bedside table to grab one of his infamous silken work ties. Using it to tie your wrists up- “At least, my baby’s hungry- for me to fuck a baby into her.”
Again.
5:44PM, Sunday.
You’d had a brief call just before this with Choso and Yuji in Oita (with the video option carefully turned off on your side so that they wouldn’t be able to see the state their parents were now in, all bitten, broken).
And right after- oh, right after, Nanami had all but pounced on you.
Maybe it had been the joy of seeing his sons again, maybe it had been the urgency of realizing that they’d be home by this time tomorrow. Tomorrow morning itself.
But he had you bend like a lawn chair back into your favorite mating press position, your hamstrings screaming at you to slow down- and your husband doing anything but that. “Preg-pregnant-” He’s whispering out brokenly, unable to manage anything above a rasp. “Have to get you pregnant- have to have everyone look at you and just know what I did-”
You feel his reddened tip twitch inside of you and you moan, “Yes- yes yes yes yes, Kento-” His cum spurting out in sloppy streaks. “I want it all inside, I want a baby with you- ngh.”
“Fuck, don’t say that- s’just gonna wanna make me go again.” He pleads with you, overstimulated lower lip wobbling at the feeling of your velvety, heart-shaped insides clenching ‘round him. “Just gonna make me- ngh.”
“Fuck, Kento-”
“P-pregnant…” He babbles onwards, “I get the f-feeling s’gonna be a girl, momma.”
8:45PM, Sunday.
After that, there were likely multiple more rounds that melted into one lustful haze in your mind. But the one round that you remember the most fondly out of that particular Sunday, was the one directly after Nanami had skipped dinner to go straight back into fucking you.
Your last round.
He was a crying, whimpering mess by this point - this large, towering hulk of a man that had been reduced to absolutely nothing on your pussy. You could clench and it would be enough to make your husband shed a few tears, his strawberry-red divot streaming out in pearly beads of cum. Allllll emptied out in the back of your pussy-
“I think-” He’s gasping out towards the end, feeling your slimy walls contract with what might just be another one of your highs once more. “I think this one—hnghhh.”
“Oh my-” You’re speechless-
Because Nanami only lazily probes his thick cock inside you, holding onto the front of your stomach- he presses doooown right where his mushroomy tip ended at, thudding deep into the front of your overspilling womb by now.
Drenched in his cum.
A white, hot mess because of him.
And with a carnal grunt of your name, Nanami’s finishing out once more. With a few vulgar strokes of him swirlin’ aside the webs of sap already inside of you- you’re realizing that-
“Fuck…” Your maw drops agape, “Did you just- hngh, c-cum dry, Kento?”
“Wha—” He’s hazily turning his eyes downwards, only now realizing that the end of his shaft hadn’t burst out in creamy white like it always did these past two days. He had the faint sparks of electricity, all the twitches—but Nanami hadn’t actually cum.
You’d sucked him dry.
He was cumming dry.
The realization hits him hard enough that his breath hitches, “O-oh-” Tears glitter the ends of his molten stares, “You’re right, my love, I did cum dry.” With his palm still plastered against your front, Nanami pulls you towards him - no position at all by now, just a tangled heap of limbs. “And you wanna- fuuuuck, don’t squeeze me like that- you wanna know something else, too?”
You’re cracking your teary lids open at him, “What?”
Only for your husband, Nanami Kento, to lean down and whisper—“I think it really took this time, my wife.”
“Oh…” You’re smiling up at him, your lids heavy. “That’s…good…Kento.”
And it’s the last thing you remember before you’re closing your eyes into a deep, deep slumber.
.
.
.
“Oh, fuck-” You’re shooting upright in your comfortable bed, which only seemed to wish to drag you back down onto its springy mattress with invisible arms. And it was tempting, you have to admit.
Very, very tempting.
If only sunlight hadn’t been flowing with gusto even through your bedroom curtains, and birds and traffic weren’t twittering in competition outside. It was one of those mornings when the world just seemed a little bit brighter- and with growing panic, you’re slamming your hand out to grab your phone off of the bedside table.
Muttering to yourself, “Oh, fuck fuck fuck- fuck.” It hurt to even move your limbs out for this simple action, though that was the least of your worries right now. “It seems so late- don’t tell me I missed the pick up time for-” You tap on your phone screen—
10:45AM, Monday.
(Public holiday)
“Fuck, I did-”
3 missed messages from Hubby <3
“No- wait.”
Hubby <3: I went to go pick up the kids, so don’t worry, my love. I’ll also take care of breakfast so don’t even think about it!
Hubby <3: You just get all the sleep you need. I love you.
Hubby <3: So, so much.
You’re exhaling in relief, falling back against your pillows. Out of curiosity, you’re checking the timestamps on the messages that Nanami had sent, and find that it had actually been a fair amount of time before you’d awoken. So that means…
“Papa, where’s momma?”
Ah, Yuji’s loudly curious voice emanates from downstairs - as well as the sweet, simmering smell of pancakes and syrup. Just hearing your sons so close by makes you excited to step downstairs (and you had to admit that the thought of breakfast made your stomach rumble, too)- and yet, you persist. If just to hear what excuse your husband might come up with.
Fuck, it hits you all at once - right along with the immensely satisfying fatigue in your body. The soreness. The bruises. The bites. You’d just fucked like animals for two days.
“Ah…” Nanami’s deep voice hesitates, “She’s asleep, sunshine.”
“Still?” Choso pipes up this time, and you could almost imagine the way that his dark brows would knit together when he wanted to get to the bottom of a mystery. “That’s odd, is she sick or something?”
“Or something.”
Yuji pouts, “What’s that mean, papa?”
“Momma’s just very ah- tired, you two know how hard she works.” He replies, and your heart soars as you listen to two little voices of agreement. “Let’s let her sleep, okay? And maybe if she isn’t awake by the time we finish these pancakes- then you two can get momma’s plate ready, and I’ll go upstairs to help her down, alright? We can surprise her with a fancy breakfast just for her!”
“Yes, papa—!”
“Sounds good!”
You hear Nanami chuckle, “And make sure you plate quite a bit, kiddos, I have the feeling that momma’s gonna have to eat for two very, very soon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, papa?”
“Heh, that’s a secret, sunshine…”
A/N. Y’all were asking for thisssssss so ofc daddy has to deliver mwahahaha…
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