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mysteria157 · 3 months

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Chapter 16

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~14.1k

CW: explicit sexual content, smut, profanity, ass slapping (lol?)

Summary: The last person you ever wanted to see pries into your life. Nanami makes a life changing decision. Your hard work finally pays off.

Notes: Thank you to all who have been supportive so far. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 Almost there! Happy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

The sound of Ulani’s shrieks had a smile curling against your lips, your stomach fluttering with joy as you looked up at her from your hands. Your daughter wrung her hands in the air, stretching her arms toward the various works of clay drying on long shelves on the wall of Rory’s studio, bouncing excitedly in the baby carrier strapped to said owner’s front as he walked about and described each piece to her.

There was a lull between classes, a three hour break that gave you time to leave the house for air and dig your hands in something.

You brought the wooden rib to the spinning clay, the hard material pressing gently to the greyish shiny mound as you made a steady tunneling design along the side. You were initially worried about the sketches of the small collection of works you prepared to make for Choso. You thought they would be too bold for him, too typical from what he probably had already made himself. But one quick glance over them and he was approving immediately, his bored expression softening and a smile pulling along his features as he listened to you talk him through your designs.

You only had a month; one week before Christmas to deliver the completed pieces to him. Your mind was moving a mile a minute, honing in on the clay in your hands as you started a rough throw.

The loud chime from Rory’s phone pulled your gaze to him briefly before you were looking back down the spinning (soon to be vase) in your hands. You hoped Ulani would have a creative streak. To have a child that would want to sit across from you, to dig their hands into clay or in paints, it filled you with a sensation that you couldn’t quite place and—.

“Y/n.”

His normally eclectic and cheerful tone was tainted somehow, bitterness and apprehension curving against the syllables of your name as they slid from his mouth. It made you pause, pulling your hands from the clay as you looked up at him and took in his serious expression. His twists were pulled up into a bun, allowing you to see every nuance on his face; brown eyes steely and frustrated, lips flickering with the beginnings of a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mother is here. She’s outside. She would…like to talk to you.”

You frowned immediately, the thought of her souring your mood—and the rest of your day—quickly. Your first reaction was to wash your hands, pluck Ulani from the carrier strapped to Rory’s chest, and leave through the back door. But the second reaction you had—unfortunately—, was to wait. To listen and think that maybe this time would be different.

It wasn’t different when she showed up at your door with painful accusations when she heard you were leaving Sendai. It wasn’t different when she sneered hurtful words across the table on Christmas. It wasn’t different on every birthday, or a report card with a B instead of an A, or even a present you had worked hard to get for Mother’s Day when you were ten.

It was never different.

But some part of you, deep down in a chasm that had been cobwebbed over and buried beneath the dirt in your chest had held hope that maybe this time would be different. Just once more.

“I’ll take Ulani to the back. If anything goes wrong, you come get me. Immediately. Okay?”

You stood up wordlessly, nodding curtly as you strolled to the row of basins along the studio wall to wash your hands. Rory threw the diaper and toy bag over his shoulder, cooing to your daughter to distract her as he made his way out of the large, empty room and leaving you alone.

You definitely weren’t presentable; black overalls and a t-shirt that you usually wore when you threw clay, your curls frizzy and piled atop of your head without a care, no earrings, no—.

No.

She would take what you gave, or leave.

No more acquiescing her.

Your heart was racing frantically in your chest, painful beats pushing the blood through your veins in thick pulses. You wiped away the sweat that had prickled on the back of your neck, bit the inside of your lip until you could taste the tinge of copper on your tongue, squared your shoulders and took a long, heaving breath.

You could do this.

Or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself as her elegant form walked into the now stiff air of the studio. Her eyes were apprehensive, genetic brown hues looking anywhere but at you as she walked closer to your standing form near the basin row. Her similar curly hair was twisted and pulled back into a low bun, simple diamond earrings in her ears, and dressed in jeans and a thick sweater—a stark contrast to her usual silks and pastels.

While you were used to her exuding rudeness and arrogance, your nose flared at the heavy smell of hesitance and unease that radiated from her instead.

It felt like minutes before she spoke, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of something to say. You wouldn’t be the first to talk, you wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. Ome’s words rang in your ears like a siren.

“If your mother is ever going to come around, she is going to do all the work.”

“Throwing clay?” Her voice was practically silent when she finally spoke, her words wobbly on the ends, shaky. You didn’t respond, your hands digging into the sides of your cotton overalls as your gaze stayed locked with hers. “You look…healthy.”

“What do you want?”

You couldn’t deny the satisfaction of watching her flinch from your words. Growing up, you had been on the receiving end of it time and time again.

Her mouth opened again, silence falling from the space between parted lips, brows furrowing and face coloring in shame.

“I want to apologize.” You scoffed, the reaction immediate as you shook out a humorless laugh and folded your arms across your chest, shifting your gaze to look anywhere else as you tried to ignore the anger festering in the base of your stomach. “Please just—when I showed up at your door in Sendai and said all those things…and then when I showed up here and spoke so harshly that you ended up in the hospital—well your uncle tore me to shreds. You wouldn’t even begin to comprehend what he said and—”

“Let’s hear it.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, courage locking the vertebrae of your spine in place and holding you up and steady as you kept your patronizing gaze on her. “What did he say?”

Eyes that you were used to seeing filled with disdain and indifference were now colored with embarrassment and guilt.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

“He said that I am a heartless bitch who never deserved nor should have been a mother. And the fact that I would put you at risk without batting an eyelash shows that I deserve to rot in hell.”

You reminded yourself to give Rory a warm hug later.

“So what changed? You felt bad?”

“I had a small heart attack.”

You bit the side of your tongue, willing yourself to keep your appearance neutral and not convey the worry that flooded your body of its own volition. You may not care for her, but you wouldn’t wish her harm.

You weren’t that heartless…but sometimes you wished you were.

“It was minor, but it scared me. When I woke up in the hospital, I realized how alone I was. You weren’t there, Rory wasn’t calling. Not even my father called. He never cared unless it was to benefit himself. And it took me fifty five fucking years and me almost dying to realize I was just like him. He raised me to work hard and that my value only came from my accomplishments and my education, the man I married, and the health and success of my kids. I believed him and followed him just to feel something from him…and I did the same to you.”

Suddenly you hated her. You hated that all of a sudden, she was ‘seeing clearly’. All of a sudden, her trauma made so much sense to her. Now it all clicked after you had already been scarred enough.

You hated her.

You didn’t but—fuck.

“I’m trying to do better. I’ll always be working on myself. And I know you will probably never forgive me or want to speak to me again. And that’s fine. I came prepared knowing that possible outcome. But I had to do it anyway. It probably won’t make up for years of how I treated you but…I was a terrible mother…and I’m so…so sorry.”

You ignored the prickle in the back of your eyes, kept your gaze steady even though your chest was shaking with unease and something else. Something else thick and heavy and pressing against your skin, digging into your lungs and narrowing your breath.

“Everything that you have done, has always made me so proud. Proud as your mother, not because of expectations. You’re a wonderful daughter, who I am proud to call my own. I hope that one day, you’ll let me be in your life again. In your daughter’s life. On your own terms, however you want. And if you don’t, that’s okay too.”

The silence was deafening, only the faint sounds of cars fluttering outside as they drove past to cast some sort of noise between the tension of you both. This was the first time in your life that she had ever apologized to you. The first time she had ever shown a flicker of remorse and guilt. The first time you had ever watched her realize the consequences of her own actions in how she chose to raise you.

You wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave and never come back or contact you again.

But you knew—deep down you knew—that you owed it to yourself and maybe even your daughter to try.

“I should get going.”

Her soft voice pulled you from your thoughts, watching in faint fascination as she smoothed her hands down her cashmere sweater and cleared her throat to dispel the awkwardness in the air.

“I’m staying with your uncle. We’ve been trying to reconnect and well—I’ll be here for a few days.”

You ignored the small flicker of hope in your chest, because it didn’t make sense to feel this way. Your mother didn’t deserve a modicum of well wishes or happiness from you and yet the thought of her reaching out again had you fighting the small voice in your head whispering finally to the attention you always craved.

Though only a few words had left your lips, you were suddenly tired. So mentally tired.

“I’ll get out of your hair.”

She offered you a soft smile, the sight pulling at your chest and preventing you from speaking further. She hesitated for a moment longer—a hand lifting as if to reach for you—but instead she tucked it against her chest and left the room without another word.

When the door chime of the studio rung in your ears, you sagged against the basin row behind you, hands reaching back to grip the edge, fingers digging into layers of dried glaze as you squeezed tighter with each beat of your heart.

Thirty years of trauma and only looking your way unless it was for her benefit and now all of a sudden, she was remorseful. If she meant it, you really wouldn’t know unless you gave her a shot.

But right now, you couldn’t think about it.

Right now, the only thoughts on your mind were getting home to take care of Ulani and vent to Kento with free hands and an angry mouth. Kento who you, surprisingly, hadn’t heard from all day.

You faltered at sight of your phone screen, blinking against the chilly November wind as you made your way to the car. You were used to a few messages from Kento throughout the day. While he offered the minimum amount of words in meetings and conversation in his workplace to get the job done, he turned to his phone to vent on any annoyances and to ask your opinion on a certain direction projects on his roster should take. You had left that life, and though marketing no longer flowed through your veins next to caffeine and exhaustion like it used to, it felt freeing to exercise your brain again with things you once embraced so readily.

But right now, you were a little mystified as you noticed only one message from him.

Kento: Hello. I know you’re at Rory’s studio right now but I’m not home and did not want you to be alarmed. I decided to go to the bakery.

Are you still there?

Kento: I am.

Be there soon.

Your heart jumped into the narrow tunnel of your throat, pumping frantically, a loud sloshing in your ears from each beat as you raced to your car and strapped Ulani in her seat.

Since Yu’s death, he had not set foot in the bakery let alone walked along the block that the establishment was built on. Through his journey of grief, he still hadn’t talked about owning the bakery or touched the deed that Yu had given him.

Kaya had done a great job keeping up with the bakery since her husband’s death. And Yu, like the beautiful soul he was, ensured his employees would still have a career in the midst of something going wrong. A fellow bakery owner from his years in culinary school happily took the extra help and Yu’s former employees were still earning a modest living.

Even in death, his kindness would never cease.

The thick curtains only showed slivers of dim light through glass windows as you peered from inside your car. Your stomach was in knots, twisting by the second as you strapped Ulani to you again and walked inside.

The bakery wasn’t big, modest and modern with hints of eclectic and outgoing tones that exuded Yu’s personality. Walls were painted a warm brown, employee of the month pictures and certificates of achievement littered a small section—polaroid pictures of families and neighbors and friends next to them.

The front register was covered with a thin white sheet, the wood counters clean and free of dust, the long glass display case empty and dark. Large chalkboard slabs behind the register on the wall had been scrubbed clean, no longer holding any remnants of Yu’s handwriting to display what goods would be available.

Before, when the bakery was open and bustling, the spaces between cabinets and the center of the small tables inside were adorned with different houseplants that grew throughout the seasons. Long Philodendrons would hang down from the ceiling and trail on the walls like vines; waxy Hoya Carnosas would adorn the tables that Yu would rotate with Peperomias of different shades and size. You remembered the large Fiddle Leaf that would sit in the corner behind the counter, curving over a table meshed against the glass windows that would always offer a warm and cozy cover for whatever lucky person happened to snag the seat. It was his pride and joy, the only plant that responded to his touch. Haibara always loved plants.

But those plants were all gone now—the corners, walls, and tables now bare.

A small part of you hoped that Kaya took them home instead of throwing them away.

Your eyes caught Kento, his tall body leaning stiffly against a wooden counter, his glasses covered gaze directed to the blank chalkboard slabs on the wall. A crisp black long sleeved button up covered muscular arms that were crossed over his chest, dark grey slacks fitting perfectly on legs that ran miles every morning before the sun rose, black expensive Chukka boots that he embellished in occasionally, and his typical silver Cartier watch graced your eyes as you took him in. Broad shoulders rose softly as he pulled the cold air in through his nose, sharp cheekbones curving his face into a somber expression.

Something must have happened.

A thick fog of unease permeated from his presence across the tiled floor of the bakery and to both you and Ulani. The feel of it made you swallow, eyes blinking back a sudden sting as you opened your mouth to say something to him.

Your daughter beat you to it, babbling happily at the sight of her father, the noise cutting through the tension in the room like a knife and wrapping around Kento like a warm blanket. He reacted immediately, his head turning to you both and a small smile curling the ends of his mouth only fractionally as he took you in.

You watched his mouth open, lips parting and twitching before closing altogether. Apprehension colored his features, the strength he had practiced using in his head before your arrival vanishing entirely upon the sight of you.

“Rough day?”

Your voice echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and making it feel more empty than what it already was, washing over him and filling his lungs to fan flames of newfound confidence. You crossed the empty space between you both, admiring his gracefulness even in the midst of whatever inner turmoil he was going through.

Kento didn’t speak at first, his eyes flickering from yours to down at his daughter as she looked around the room.

“Before you came along, I went to Haibara for almost everything that I was frustrated about. To him, I was a grumpy old man inside of a twenty something year old body who frequently fretted about everything and everyone. But he listened to me anyway. Every day when Gojo was more insufferable than usual or when work was so grating that I felt suffocated, I rambled to him.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine you gushing like a teenager to someone,” you teased, smiling up at him as he fingered a soft lock of Ulani’s hair that poked from her beanie.

“Haibara used bribery to get me to open my mouth,” he muttered in reply, voice colored with sadness and a slight twinge of nostalgia. “This morning I already felt heavier than usual. And it just got worse as the day went along. Meetings ran annoyingly long. Our branch in Niigata is performing below benchmarks and they are pushing back on everything we suggest. To make matters worse, the lovely bento you made for me was upside down when it was time for lunch.”

“How shameful. I worked hard on that,” you goaded, clicking your tongue in fake admonishment as you began to bounce your daughter in place. The small remark seemed to do the trick, a gentle huff leaving his chest in response.

“Normally, I turn to you when I want to voice my worries. But I knew you were busy and before I could even think about it, I was pulling out my phone, texting Yu instead and hitting send. It hit me almost immediately that he’s not here.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment as he spoke to you. You didn’t offer any words, reading his own cues and placing a hand on his chest, your thumb stroking the fabric slowly to encourage him.

“I brushed it off the first time. But then it happened when one of the higherups asked a question that ran a meeting 15 minutes over. And again, after I put your bento back together. Three messages still delivered but no response, and my chest felt so heavy even though I knew the reason why.”

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed in frustration, the muscle arching angrily over the curve of his odd glasses. Kento had never believed in any sort of afterlife or spiritual presence. He was ashamed, foolish to think that a friend so precious to him who was long gone could possibly send him something back.

“And that’s why you came here? To think that you could hear him in a place where he always was?” you asked him softly, keeping his attention on you and hoping to smooth the angry crease in his brow.

“It sounds asinine, doesn’t it?”

You shook your head in response, that same hand on his chest reaching up to stroke the soft skin of his face, thumb brushing over a sharp cheekbone. He relaxed into your touch, leaning more into your hand and siphoning the warmth that it brought.

Yu’s presence still bled through the walls of his bakery. Your eyes could see the plants and writing on the chalkboard through a thin veil of reminiscence. The equipment remained shiny from his years of care, the countertops held stains of hard work and wear and tear that seemed to season the dough he used to knead every night before leaving. The air, thick and cold, held echoes of his loud and boisterous yelling as you laughed at a joke with a hand on your once pregnant belly. Vivid memories flashed through your mind like an old reel; him blowing raspberries into the plump cheeks of his daughter’s face and whispering warm words of affection to his wife when he thought no one was listening.

Haibara was everywhere and yet nowhere.

“Did he answer you?” you asked, your own voice tight from the memories.

He chuckled softly from your question; the sound strained even though his shoulders relaxed from their once tense hold. He plucked Ulani from her carrier, kissing her cheek repeatedly until her gummy lips curled into a drool covered smile and her body hiccupped out a harsh giggle.

“He did.”

You didn’t pry further. Whatever words he had for his friend where for him and him alone. You knew he would tell you if you asked, but it felt wrong to do so. So, you simply smiled up at him instead, hoping your body language would convey just how satisfied you were with his progress.

The dim lights of the bakery glinted over his glasses, the tinted lenses offering you a flash of deep set eyes that hadn’t stopped tracing over you since you walked in.

He outlined your features; typical black cotton overalls and white shirt with flicks of dried clay that you wore when throwing, curls pulled up into a messy bun, smooth skin without blemish as you radiated love in his direction.

He had felt hollow all day, his chest carved out with the sharpest knife imaginable and exposed to the open air as frustration and sadness festered along the raw walls of the woundt. Just thinking about Haibara seemed to pull him so low that on days like these it was hard to even see the top of the hole in order to climb out of it.

But you offered that familiar smile, spoke to him with words that held thick layers of affection and comfort that seemed to make the hole in his chest a little less painful. You were a beacon to him, shining bright and unmoving even though the rocky waters of his grief had pressed against you time and time again. You would always be there to offer the answers he needed to hear, even if they stung a little more than usual.

You both freely gave and took from one another, balancing chaos and peace with a harmonious practice that should have taken years to build.

And right now, you were giving him everything he needed in that moment.

So, Kento took; leaning down to slant his lips against yours and leeching away the comfort he had been searching for all day and swallowing it for himself. When he pulled away and sighed against your cheek, placing another kiss on the skin there, his body felt a little less heavy than before.

Later that night, after you had vented your own frustrations about your mother and hours after Ulani had been tucked in bed, you carded your fingers through thick blonde locks while he lay on your sweaty chest. With your steady heartbeat against his ear, Kento pulled in a calming breath for the first time that day.

Just minutes before, his mouth had been hot on your skin, wringing every ounce of adoration from your body that you gave him when his tongue dipped between the crevices of your body and his hips rolled against yours. And now with your strength, he exhaled away his worries and sadness into the warm air of your bedroom, squeezing you closer to him so he could soak up your warmth.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you today.”

It was the first word he had spoken in a while; he was normally somewhat vocal when you both made love, but tonight he was quiet, content to relish in the moans you exhaled against his skin. You didn’t let your mind run away with irrationality and remained quiet, your fingers scratching a spot on his nape that relaxed him further against you.

“Meetings did run long, the Niigata branch is performing below benchmarks, and your bento did fall apart before I could enjoy it. But—well lately I’ve been thinking that…” he trailed off, the rumble of his voice into your skin falling into nothing as he lost the remaining words in his throat. You felt him swallow against you, felt his hands dig a little more into the flesh of your waist, felt his nose press more into the skin of your breast before he pulled in your scent with a deep and shaky breath. “These past few days, I’ve been thinking about fulfilling Yu’s portion of his will—opening the bakery.”

Soft patters of happiness fluttered against your ribcage. You twirled a thick lock between two fingers, ruminating words in your head before speaking.

“Is that what you asked him then? In the bakery? You asked if he thought you were ready?”

He was silent for only a moment before speaking against you. “Yes.”

Nimble fingers traced against you, swirling in no specific way as he fought the urge to swallow his words and turn away from you so he could disregard the conversation and never bring it up again.

He’d gotten this far; he could keep going. He owed it to himself to keep going.

“He told me to stop complaining about the meetings. The Niigata branch will fall in line eventually. Your lovely bento can easily be remade, and…and that yes, yes I’m ready.” His unease was front and center now that the words were out of his mouth, that painful feeling in his chest returning with an intense ebb that made him hold you tighter. “There are still some things that I need to figure out; my job, how I want things to be run, when it will open. But I have time. Plus, I want Ulani to be a few months older, so things are not as intense for us.”

You were elated, your lips pulling into a bright smile as you felt the soft tresses of his hair graze against your fingertips. It had taken him months to get to this moment, and to be honest, you thought it would have been much longer. He climbed over you, his blond tresses falling over his forehead to brush against your own.

“How does that sound?”

You admired him from above, reaching up to stroke his cheek, your thumb sliding along his bottom lip.

“I think that sounds great, Ken.”

That beacon of light shined up at him again, calling for him to come home in the warmth of your embrace where he could stay as long as he wanted.

For the final time that night, he took every morsel of your love, swallowed it down with another press of his lips against yours before he rolled inside of you for more.

***

Your commission for Choso in the weeks following became a real test for how you could balance motherhood. Before Ulani, you could spend hours in your studio, hunched over a pottery wheel or easel and throwing out piece after piece until your fingers ached from dryness and overuse.

But now, you had to throw clay in intervals, short ten minute increments with Ulani doing tummy time or playing with sensory toys on a thick pallet of blankets next to you. Kento offered a small reprieve during his lunch breaks by coming home to help out and soak in as much time with his daughter as he could.

You had to balance perfecting a small collection of works for Choso as well as take care of Ulani, and take care of yourself.

It was exhausting and a small reminder of what you could and couldn’t handle at least while your daughter was at this age.

But the results were worth it.

You relished in the pride of watching Choso smile deeply as he unwrapped a vase of your own design. It was almost as tall as you, but created with a soda firing technique that left the glaze a surprising but beautiful texture that would stand out in his home. Ten pieces to grace his home in whatever way he wanted were unwrapped bit by bit, his black painted fingernails tracing along the sides of each one in childlike fascination as he riffled through.

“These are beautiful. Truly.”

And while you were elated from his response, the check that he wrote held far too many zeros that had you blanching in shock and pushing the piece of paper back towards him. He resisted, black eyebrows pinching in confusion before pressing it more firmly into your hands, curling your fingers around it.

“Get used to this. People would pay so much to have something of yours. Cherish it.”

The smooth texture of the check in your hand felt almost imaginable between your fingers. “Choso, I don’t think I can—”

“I will not give you any less than that. Please don’t think I’m trying to be too generous. All of it is earned. You have such a gift.”

Those same words again echoed in your ears. Kento had uttered those same words as he looked at your work in your old studio in Sendai. Chiyo had spoken them to you as she admired the mural in Ulani’s nursery. Over and over, until it had become too loud and overwhelming that you didn’t have the justification to remain in denial any longer.

***

“You look so fucking good,” Ome squealed the minute she laid eyes on you. The entire day was spent throwing on every outfit you could find and feel comfortable in, trailing over your figure and fighting subconscious thoughts with every article of clothing you put on. Ulani, while an admirer of yourself, offered nothing but incoherent babbling that seemed to bring a small smile to your face in the midst of your inner turmoil.

It had taken you hours, but you could truly admit that you looked hot.

The one sleeve long black maxi dress hugged your body enough to show off your curves gained from motherhood without being too tight. The high slit up the side exposed the expanse of a smooth brown leg, your skin glowing in the light of your room as you turned to admire yourself. Your curls were tucked away and slicked back into a neat bun, the baby hairs of your edges smoothed down and curled against the skin of your hairline. Classic gold hoops adorned your ears and a double layer herringbone gold chain sat against the skin of your collarbone. You were fastening the ankle strap of your three inch chunky heels when Ome walked into your room.

Ome filled out her halter neck midi dress so well. Growing up, she was always a bit curvier than you were. She was never insecure with her body and she flaunted it when she could. The dress stopped right before her knees, dark chocolate skin strapped with stiletto heels and a gold ankle bracelet. Her 4c hair was styled into a neat high bun with two thick strands of her hair tightly braided to frame each side of her face in its own creation of bangs.

“You look fucking good,” you retorted playfully, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress before sitting down at your vanity.

“I know.”

You snorted against the firm glide of eyeliner, completing a classic cat eye on both sides before throwing her a glare through the mirror.

“You and Gojo are just alike, its uncanny. Is he your date tonight?” The teasing inflection in your tone earned you a heatless glare, beautiful silver eyes rolling dramatically at your jest.

“Fuck you.”

“So that’s a yes.”

Your eyes stayed locked with hers through the mirror as you ran a thin layer of gloss over your lips.

“I’ll have you know that this is our third date, so—”

“Three dates and still no pipe? Damn that’s crazy.”

You expected a biting remark in response, expected her to cuss over an insult that you would both laugh at. But Ome narrowed her eyes instead, pursing beautiful lips before she sauntered to where you sat.

“It’s funny…I’ve noticed a few things. You’ve got on a sexy ass dress, high heels, you have on your favorite perfume and you look unbelievably happy and comfortable.” Ome threw you a look. “Kento must be dicking. You. Down.”

You swatted at her as if she were an annoying pest even though the loud laughter shaking from your chest told her everything she needed to know.

“I heard my name.”

The man himself was suddenly leaning against the doorframe of your room, a beautiful brow lifted in question. You swallowed the groan as you soaked in his dark brown ribbed knit top that was loosely tucked into white slacks, short sleeves hugging his biceps perfectly. Your eyes traced along thick and veiny forearms as he crossed his arms over his chest, a well-cared for black Rolex winking at you from his wrist. His hair was parted and gelled in its usual style, but he had forgone the glasses, and his serious gaze was as intense as ever as he narrowed them playfully at you.

God if you didn’t have anywhere to go, you would be on your knees in a second.

“What have I done?”

You were quick, shooting Ome wide eyes, mouth loaded with an admonishing retort. “Ome don’t—”

“I was telling her how good she looked. She seems more happy than usual and she’s finally getting more comfortable with that new mommy body..so I assumed you’ve been putting her to sleep.”

Why did you even bother with her?

Kento hummed softly, pursing his lips as if in thought before chuckling softly to himself.

“Well I’m glad my efforts are paying off.”

You gawked, blushing furiously and barking an insult at Ome as she threw her head back and guffawed into the air.

***

Rory’s exhibits were usually lavish—at least lavish for a small town like Yoyogi. But this was another level entirely. Choso exuded his status in the ceramic world. Artists that you had grown up studying in your spare time and only dreamt of meeting were within walking distance. Waiters dressed in sleek black uniforms floated along marble floors with plates of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Faint notes of classical impressionist music wafted through the air, created an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth as you took in each piece. The unease of being out of place was thick in your stomach upon your arrival, but all too quickly Kento’s presence was enough to make you forget about it all.

Because Kento, like the clingy man he was, couldn’t go five minutes without his hands on you. Familiar fingers skimmed along the slope of your exposed shoulder as you leaned over to inspect one of Choso’s monolith sculptures. A firm hand caressed the curve of your waist and the small of your back to lead you through the crowd of people when you were ready to proceed to the next pillar. Ever the soft man he was, ever the gentleman, but still always within reach.

And it was true, Kento prided himself on being a gentleman and upheld that standard every single day.

But tonight, he was slipping and since he set eyes on you in your room earlier, he was itching to get you alone.

You’d been turning heads all night and had been too happy and absorbed in your own world to notice. You smiled up at him as you explained Choso’s firing and glazing techniques. You pulled Ome and Chiyo about the room to show them your favorite pieces. The low lights against your creamy brown skin seemed to make you glow. Your perfume had his mind hazy and resisting the urge to bury his nose into your neck. With every gentle click of your heels against the floor, the black dress he had been undressing all night in his mind showed long expanses of your leg and thigh. You were the most exotic and ethereal creature in the room.

And all his.

Before you, Kento had been satisfied with his lack of jealousy. He knew his worth and what he wanted in a companion; and when the moment came, he knew that she had chosen him for a reason.

But that was before you had come storming into his life. Talented and teasing and beautiful.

So, when he caught the slimy purple eyes of a scrawny man with long blonde hair looking at your ass for a third time that night, he couldn’t deny the slight twinge of discontent that flared inside of him.

“Squeezing me a little tight there,” you spoke softly, chuckling with an uneasy gaze as Kento locked eyes with someone behind you. His hold on your hip loosened, narrow eyes blinking down in your direction before he offered a soft apology. His face was colored with a thin veil of annoyance and irritation, and while never directed at you, it was still rare to see in your presence.

“Is someone bothering you?” You made to turn around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever seemed to put a frown on your boyfriend’s face. But instead, his hand slid against your cheek, palming the skin to stroke with his thumb and directing your gaze back to him. Expression softening but still holding a glint of anger, a small smile fell on his features.

“It’s nothing and I don’t want you thinking about anything else other than this. Choso gave you VIP tickets for his own exhibit and now you’re finally here. Enjoy it.” He ran his thumb over your eyebrows, smoothing away the sharp dip in them both to erase as much confusion from your face as possible. “As I recall, you still have five more pillars to show me.”

That did the trick. With a faux glower up at him, you laced your fingers through his and pulled him along.

Half an hour later, you were fully engrossed in a conversation with Kento when you heard Choso speaking from the front of the room. You didn’t pay too much attention, your mind elsewhere as he thanked everyone for coming, spoke about the inspiration behind this year’s collection, and listed those who had offered their unwavering support.

“This year, I wanted to add something new to my collection. An artist that I collaborated with that I hope you all will enjoy.”

The pillar next to him was covered in a black sheet. Throughout the night, your eyes had lingered on what it could have been, but you didn’t give it much thought. Choso lifted the sheet, unsheathing the contents beneath.

Kento’s hum of surprise should have been your first indication that what you were looking at wasn’t in your imagination. You blinked once, squinting and trying to recall faint memories of yourself to test your cognition and ensure you were in your right mind. The pieces looked familiar. Vaguely you remembered sketching, throwing and glazing them yourself.

But that couldn’t be. You had packed them up and given them to Choso just a week prior.

Your ears felt like cotton had been rammed inside, the faint words from Choso’s mouth and mutters from the crowd around you muffled and stuffy.

“It’s hard to find artists who understand your passion. Even harder to find those who have said passion and can convey beautiful things with nothing at all. These pieces belong to a friend that I’ve only recently made. They are not for sale, so don’t ask or berate her. But I owe these all to F/n, l/n.”

The bottom of your heels felt rooted to the spot, sinking into the marble floor as Choso’s gaze locked with yours, and the people around you turned to follow suit. He hadn’t called you. That wasn’t your work on the shiny black stone pillar. Surely you were dreaming. You were dreaming that the eyes directed at you and the soft applause garnered your way was a small snippet of something you would remember when you woke up.

Kento’s hands gently cradled your upper arms, rubbing and ushering you forward with a slight chuckle behind you. You were on autopilot as you took timid steps to stand next to Choso, beads of sweat cold on the back of your neck once with the sudden and dreadful realization that you were now the center of attention. You didn’t know what to say, your mind was still trying to keep up, heart beating hard against your ribcage, mouth dry and sticky.

You bowed softly, muttering an embarrassed and soft thank you before the room broke into applause again. Your eyes traced over your pieces as they lay in front of you, shiny and brand new and reflecting just how hard you had worked.

“I’m sorry to have put you on the spot,” Choso admitted, his voice tunneling through the dying sounds of ringing in your ears as you blinked back into the present. “I honestly didn’t plan to make a collaboration. But the minute Yuji showed me your page, I had to. I also knew that if I told you my plan, you might have created something with the goal of impressing, not being genuine.” Deep purple eyes flickered up to Kento who stood silently beside you. “I’m afraid I’ve broken her.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that rattled from the tight confines of your chest, shaking you firmly and making you aware of the crowd that had dispersed and the lingering people who eyed your work from afar.

The path to get to this exact moment had suddenly been carved up, rooted from its spot in firm soil that you had patted down yourself and paved over with material you weren’t familiar with.

Build a small following, take on commissions until you gained your confidence, and then just hope that you would have a lucky break one day.

Clean cut and simple, even if a little modest compared to your intense disposition for hard work.

But Choso had given the order to carve up that path, pulled you to the side with a vague distraction of a commission that you thought would sit privately in his house, and then placed you back on shiny floors and only a few steps from your goal.

“Excuse me?”

The voice, deep and feminine, pulled you once again from your anxious thoughts. And when you saw her, your heart gave what felt like the millionth lurch of the night. You had studied her work alongside Choso’s and so many prolific artists in your intense years of college, had tried to make your own sketches from the sight of her pictures that she posted online, had admired her from afar all night and been too shy to introduce yourself. Yuki Tsukumo, a decade older than you with twice as much experience and classical training, stood in front of you with flowing blonde hair and a red dress that clung to a strong and lean figure.

“I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to snag you before others did. I’d love to know your process.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again, neurons in your brain misfiring and the command to speak lost in the midst.

Thumbs from Kento’s hands still on your shoulders stroked against your skin, spreading warmth with each pass.

“My love, your mouth is open, but no words are coming out.”

“R-right!” you squeaked, blushing furiously and pushing through the thick bushels of embarrassment in your chest, grabbing the small nestle of courage inside before you opened your mouth to speak.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered to Choso an hour later, your voice thick and heavy with overwhelming emotion.

The exhibit was still in full swing, but you’d finally been given a small morsel of time by yourself. Sweaty hands clutched a stack of business cards; Yuki Tsukumo at the top, four more famous artists beneath, and a plethora of attendees at the bottom. All with their contact information, all pressed delicately into your hands with the wish for you to contact them and set up time for a commission. All curious to know more about you, marveling at your process and inspiration, fascinated by you.

The confusion of it all had passed by the time Yuki gave you a warm hug with a promise to get lunch with you the next time she was in town. Such a trivial thing to say from someone so revered in the world that you were barely dipping your toes in.

Pale hands covered yours, the fresh black polish of Choso’s fingernails shining up at you against the dim lights in the room. He squeezed, pulsing warmth into sweaty and tingly fingers.

“Surely, you wanted to get this far?” You swallowed, your throat contracting around a painful ball of emotion in your throat that was threatening to crawl up and out of your mouth. “Everyone in this room; Yuki, the other ceramic artists who I invited, even your uncle, are all people who have worked hard to get here. I don’t entertain myself with those who boost the confidence of others of the same status, just for glorification. You are unique and I want to keep you in my little circle of unique people for as long as I can, so you come out into our world still holding pieces of yourself. There’s no need to be shy. I’m sure you have work in your own studio that you probably never thought would see the light of day. And yet here you are.”

Echoes of none too distant memories were suddenly flashing in your mind; Kento guiding you along Rory’s exhibit just months prior, listening to you gush about your uncle’s work and brushing away all attempts of Kento boosting confidence in yourself.

“Where do you think you get the trait from? You have work in your studio that could be sitting right on these pillars tonight.”

“I will say it until you begin to realize and then continue to do so; you have a gift.”

Emotion that was once bubbling in your belly, surged up into your chest, pressing against the bone of your sternum until it began to splinter, seeping through the cracks and trailing hot overwhelming waves of pride through your veins. The force of it made you pull in a deep inhale, eyes blinking rapidly to oust the faint traces of tears along your lashes.

“Thank you,” your voice was a little stronger, but you couldn’t trust yourself to say much more without bursting into tears.

So, you didn’t.

And Choso, who could see the rising flood of emotion in your eyes, brought still clasped hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. His tired eyes caught Yuki far behind you, shyly admiring her form while she talked to Rory, mustering courage he had cultivated for years in her presence but never opening his mouth enough to use it. He excused himself and meandered timidly in her direction.

The hum of everyone around you settled your nerves and you used the lull in privacy to take deep-seated breaths into your lungs to shackle yourself into the present. And when you finally turned around to face out into the crowd, you fell short when a man blocked your way.

There wasn’t much to him; average height but still a little taller than you, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail on the left side of his head, deep purple eyes that looked a little more unnerving than sincere.

He was kind with a gentle disposition despite the three faint markings beneath each eye. And as he fumbled over compliments of your work and explained how much he wished he had enough time in his busy schedule to frequent galleries, your eyes flickered past him in search of Kento so you could make your way over when this conversation was done.

Said man was already on his way, pushing down waves of indignation as the man rested a hand on your shoulder. He told himself to be calm, to focus his attention on his mother as she asked about Ulani and work, to reason that you knew exactly what you were doing.

He didn’t doubt you—would never doubt you. You didn’t need anyone to speak for you.

But the man in front of you had leered at you one too many times when you weren’t looking, had slithered his eyes over Kento’s own hand that caressed your waist. He felt unhinged responding to the frustration in his chest and hated how freely he rode with the primal urge in his veins to make sure everyone in this room knew you were his.

“There you are, love.” Kento was suddenly by your side, interrupting the man—who he found out was named Haruta Shigemo—and wrapping a muscular arm around your waist. Shigemo’s purple pupils flickered down at your waist, taking in the way Kento’s hand lay against your curves in loud but also silent exclamation that this was a battle Kento would always win unless you cast him out.

In only a few short seconds, you had taken in all you needed from their silent but heated battle with each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and made your way past Shigemo, muttering how nice it was to meet him before wading into the crowd toward your family and friends.

Rory had to practically shove you inside of the car when it was time to leave.

“You both are either working or taking care of your daughter, have a night to yourselves. I’ve taken care of you plenty of times when you were a baby, I can do the same for Ulani. Have a nice night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He kissed your cheek goodnight before you could protest any further and Ome was already leaning down to speak to you through the open window, blocking you from trying to escape.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ome whispered, raspy voice low and airy, admiring you with years of affection that only you would ever receive. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, Ome.”

“You deserve to be celebrated.” The gentle moment didn’t last for long, with a heavy clearing of her throat, she threw an elegantly arched brow in your direction. You could taste the beginnings of an inappropriate remark, loaded in her mouth with a stench that you could smell a mile away. “So, remember, whatever you can’t fit into your mouth, use your hand. Twist the wrist as you come up and—”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you hissed playfully, swatting at her through the open window.

***

The cityscape was breathtaking, with the moon shining through high clouds and a sprinkle of snow beginning to fall, all of Nakameguro had been cast into silence as it settled in for the night. Distant notes of one of Kento’s records floated about his living room, sliding against the books on his overcrowded bookshelf, dancing over the vacant and plush long sofa you used to sink into, and then over to you, wrapping around your body like the warmest blanket you could ever imagine.

You pulled in a long breath, the warm air drifting down your throat and into your lungs, expanding your chest with fluttering sensations of happiness. You were happy. So truly happy and proud of how far you’d come from your own hard work and the people who had walked into your life.

“Ulani is perfectly fine,” Kento called from the hallway, his low and always commanding voice growing closer as he made his way across the room. “Megumi says that she was amazing with him and Rory is already reading her a book before he gets her ready for bed.”

“Megumi would be the type to prefer babysitting over socializing.”

“Gojo practically raised him. Came into his life our senior year of high school. He’s the complete antithesis of Gojo. Thank god.”

You snorted, elbowing his arm when he slunk up next to you. “You should have let me speak to her.”

Kento rolled his eyes dramatically. “Darling, she has no idea what a phone is or how it works. Hearing your voice but not seeing you would only have made her cry.”

“Will you humor me for once!” You giggled up at him, smacking him on the bicep again and ignoring the way your fingers carded around muscle. “Besides, I’m a little upset with you anyway.”

You weren’t, but it was funny to see dark blonde eyebrows furrow mildly even though brown eyes flashed back at you with equal mirth.

“And what have I done to upset you?” Long fingers pressed against your necklace to smooth out the kinks, calloused fingertips dragging goosebumps along your skin.

“I saw the way you looked at Shigemo.”

“So he has a name,” he muttered, eyes focused on the movement of his fingers, ignoring the tumultuous waves of insecurity in his chest as you chuckled weakly up at him.

“My, my. Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, are you jealous—”

“No,” he interrupted, deep and low timbre of a voice firm and resolute. Stoic mahogany eyes commanded your attention, holding you tight with invisible hands on your hips. “I’m not a jealous man. But I am protective, especially of you.”

You couldn’t help the severity of your eyes rolling from his response.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Ken. I can take care of myself. Which, yes, I know that you understand that. But he was only being nice—”

“Nice or not,” cutting you off, voice suddenly icy and face flaring with a hint of anger before it washed away. “He did nothing but leer at you all night. Every time I saw him, his eyes couldn’t help but stare right at your ass or the way I held you. I was being protective because he made me uneasy. I should have told you when I first saw but I didn’t want to distract you from your night. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulling your gaze from him as you let his words sink into your skin. The furrow between his brows deepened, skin wrinkling with frustration in himself as the silence stretched further. He couldn’t look at you; being caught was embarrassing enough. So he kept his gaze on the faint shine of your necklace instead, dragging a fingertip along the unique surface.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked, tone somber and shy.

For once when it came to sex, you could make him fluster. You could make him blush like a schoolboy and fumble over his words. You both were always in control when fucking; giving and taking every time. But he always held a sway over you that could make you relax into his words and embrace.

So you were going to enjoy this.

“I’m not so sure, Kento,” you began, jutting your chin up at him, radiating defiance as much as you could. Umber irises snapped up from your necklace, smoldering in their heated gaze as he began to taste the shift in the air. “First Pia and now this? Your offenses are stacking up. You’ll need to really show me how sorry you are.”

You should have planned this better, should have thought of your comebacks a little more thoroughly in your head before the words left your mouth. Because with just one step in your direction even though you both were already so close, your chest was constricting like a vice as you held your breath and staggered slowly back.

Cold glass against the exposed parts of your back made you gasp, the icy touch bringing a tingly rise of goosebumps up your spine. He towered over you, casting a tight cocoon of his rich cologne that was thickening from the growing heat between you both. Kento reached for you, sliding a large palm up the side of your body, dipping and rising with the map of your curves, the side of your breast, over the exposed skin of your clavicle and then to rest on the side of your neck. A rough thumb ran along the plushness of your bottom lip and then he was looking at you again, gentle affection now slowly brewing into something else.

“May I?” he asked, darting his eyes down at your lips to ask for permission.

“I…I suppose you can,” you whispered, voice small and shy. His hold on the side of your neck slid around to your nape, tightening slightly before pulling your head back to look up at him.

He didn’t speak, his presence all over you, suffocating you slowly, pulling you under a rush of waves that you knew you wouldn’t rise from for a very long time. Mingled breath of champagne from him and peppermint from your lip gloss danced between your lips, cold and electrifying as he exhaled softly into you and molded himself to you, brushing a thick tongue along your bottom lip before you granted him access. He used his hold on your neck to angle you up more toward him, opening yourself up more so that he could take and show just how much he was willing to give back. Another hand against the dip in your waist gripped firmly with a scalding touch that began to burn through the fabric of your dress.

That defiance you had culminated in only a short time as means of a joke evaporated the moment his lips pressed against yours. Because now you were falling, sighing softly into the air from the wet brush of his lips against the side of your neck and then down. Down and along the skin of your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts before he returned back to your lips, stealing what little remained in your lungs. Heavy breathing against your own, his clothed chest brushed against you as he pecked your lips once, and then again before slowly descending down to rest on his knees in front of you.

The sight of him below you, ready to worship had your heart racing, going a mile a minute in your chest and then stuttering when you felt a hot hand on the skin of your leg. He trailed it upwards, mapping out the saphenous veins just underneath your skin and brushing the high slit of your dress out of his way. A subtle squeeze on your knee and an even firmer grip into the fat of your thigh before he was throwing the exposed leg over his shoulder, opening you up to him. Your cunt fluttered beneath black panties from Kento’s transfixed gaze, blown out pupils burning through the thin layer of insecurity over you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your panty covered clit, dragged his thick tongue along the cloth, the touch electrifying enough to pull a yelp of surprise from your lips and smack hands against the cold glass pressing into your back. You felt the air of the room hit your core again, sharper this time from Kento’s act of pulling your panties to the side.

“Look at you baby, you’re dripping. You’re so wet, darling. So, so wet for me.”

Without his eyes on you, it gave you time to compose yourself through the storm of lust that had taken root inside of you. But it didn’t last long; with a firm squeeze to your thigh again, he silently commanded you. And like so many times before when you were incoherent from the touch of him, you obeyed and looked down, eyes locked with his as he licked along the slit of your pussy from entrance to clit.

The moan that left your lips was louder than you intended, eyes shutting tight instantly as pleasure shot up from the base of your spine and grasped at the back of your neck. Kento ate you out like a man starved, long and thick tongue swirling around your clit in a gentle touch before plunging between your folds to dip inside of you. You let the whine in the back of your throat free, combing a hand through thick blonde strands and tightening hard in a silent demand for more.

One finger slid into you, wet from your slick and pumping languidly with the ebb and flow of your moans; then two, then three. You loved the stretch, hated waiting so long for that final finger so they could curl against the spot inside of you that had both hands now knuckle tight in his hair. His thick tongue flicked against your clit, pulling it into his mouth before sucking hard, fingers scissoring and curling inside of you with a practiced touch that made you arch against the glass and drag your head along the surface.

He brushed against that spot in you once, and then again, and again with eyes never leaving the reactions of your body; your stomach clenching as you felt your walls squeeze his fingers, your arms beginning to shake as the familiar heat of an orgasm rose from the base of your spine. You shook out another moan, willpower to control your volume slipping entirely. You whined, higher and higher, the pleasure crawling up your skin, leaving hot searing promises of euphoria in its wake.

And with a sharp curl of his fingers and another firm suck of his mouth on your clit, your orgasm pulled from behind your belly button; your muscles pulling tight and voice shaking from your throat as you moaned his name harsh and loud into the air.

With languid licks and fingers slowing in their intensity, he worked you down from your high with the gentle caress you knew and loved. When you mustered up enough breath to swallow without struggle and finally look down at him, it was no surprise of the hunger that shot back your way. You moaned from the feel of his fingers sliding out of you and flinched when he pressed another soft kiss to your puffy pussy before he stood to tower over you again.

Your eyes stayed locked on his as you grabbed his hand, bringing slick covered fingers to your own mouth and remaining deadlocked with your gaze as you swirled your tongue around the digits and sucked his fingers clean. His exhale from the action was burning against you, long and deep with a hiss in the back of his throat as he watched the pink of your tongue dip between his fingers.

You smiled softly—teasingly as always—against his hand.

“Take me to bed.”

And that’s how you found yourself only seconds later, standing in front of his large and wide bed and shuddering from his touch as he pulled the zipper of your dress down and moved you to sit on the bed. You made to reach for your heels, completely forgotten since walking into his apartment when—

“Keep them on,” he rumbled at you, eyes caressing every inch of exposed skin as you shrugged off your bra and slid back until your head was resting on plush pillows. With hands unbuttoning his shirt, he whispered softly across the room. “You know what to do. Spread those legs for me, baby.”

Digging your teeth into you bottom lip, you followed his command, spreading your legs and digging your heels into his sheets, opening yourself up for him and pushing your panties to the side before he could ask. That familiar flare of impatience you often felt during sex licked up your chest, taking over your body so that you could reach down and begin to rub circles on your clit.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” you whined, holding in a chuckle as he fumbled with the belt and zipper of his hands and yanked them down with his boxers. In all his nakedness with corded muscle and a thin downy trail that led to a familiar thick cock hanging between his legs, you felt your pussy flutter from the sight of him, still circling your clit languidly as he crawled on the bed towards you.

“Fuck me, Ken.”

He hissed out a sharp curse, trailing wet lips up the skin of your thighs, up the twitching muscles of your stomach, a hot swipe of his tongue along the underside of your breasts before circling a nipple into his waiting mouth. The muscle, thick and wet pressed and flicked against you, a hand coming to knead and pinch your other breast to make sure nothing is without his touch. You arched against him, sighed softly into his caress, bucked your hips with every flick of his tongue against your nipple. When he alternated with an even more gentle touch, you whined for him, beckoning him to give you the throbbing cock that hung between his legs, desperate in your pleasure.

He responded to your call like always, angling muscular hips toward you. The first touch of him against you was always jarring, and you jumped for a second before he smoothed away your nerves with a velvety kiss and a hand on your hip before pushing into you slowly. The hand not on your hip reached up to cradle the side of your neck, a thumb stroking your cheek again to keep himself in check and blink through the nasty thoughts in his head as you clenched and squeezed around him. No matter how many times you had both done this, the feel of you around him had his mind scrambling for purchase in sanity.

You dug manicured fingernails into his back, whimpering in impatience and titling your hips so that he could slide further into you. The rock of his hips was sinful, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as he began to pick up his pace minutes later. He was so hot against you, so overwhelming and all-encompassing and here, here right now inside of you, giving you everything without having to say a word.

He knew every inch of you, every crevice, every scar, every mole and dusting of hair. But every single time you were beneath him, the beauty of you had his chest drawing tight, painful and squeezing, mind overwhelmed with the thought that this was real. From the sound of you panting and moaning into the air between you both, the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, the sight of the frizz of your hair that was still in a bun and the sheen of sweat that was beginning to form along the skin of your neck and between your breasts that bounced with each pump of him inside of you…you were—

“Beautiful,” he whispered, tilting your hips and angling his thrusts in a way that had you moaning sharply and arching into him. Your back curved up into him, panting harshly in disbelief and shuddering as he found the one spot you needed to take you to a blissful finish.

“Ken—,” you hiccupped, trying to seek purchase on his sweaty back, fingers slipping as he pulled away to sit up on his knees. Large hands on your hips pulled you softly towards him before hooking behind your knees and pushing them towards your chest. You were open, sweaty and gushing your slick around his cock, cheeks hot with embarrassment at being so exposed but mind hazy and numb with pleasure. The stroke of him in you felt more full, more splitting and he was able to curve and dip against that spongy spot with ease.

Your hands reached over your head, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his pillows to tether yourself as much as you could.

You hated how quickly you could fall apart, how quickly you could glare and challenge him but be a moaning mess only seconds later. You hated that he knew just what to do.

Fuck, you’re a terrible liar.

“You always take me so well, baby. I love looking at you like this. So fucking beautiful. The prettiest little thing I’ll ever have. That I’ll ever want.”

Burning at the base of your spine was quick to bubble to the surface, breaking past the veil from your previous orgasm and sliding over the edges of your muscles to pull them tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, spasmed with each smack of his hips against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in his large bedroom and each brush of his lower abdominals against your clit had you moaning tightly and arching your back to press your head into the pillows.

The sounds of his low groans between you, the sight of your knees pushed into your chest, folding you into a mating press as he fucked you hard and deep, your heels rocking limply with each thrust, it was hitting a spot in your mind and within your cunt that had you choking on a moan as vestiges of an orgasm fluttered to life in your lower belly.

“Fuck Kento—” you choked, words falling short from the tension in your stomach and lower back. He never needed you to say it out loud. He knew you, inside and out, with every thrust and bead of sweat and pitch in your sounds. A hand slid down the spread of a sweaty leg, trailing burning and heavy on your skin before a thumb began to rub circles on your clit. You moaned loud in response, unashamed of the volume. “Please.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he panted against you, slanting his lips against your panting ones, swallowing your moans before he pulled away and licked your bottom lip. “Cum for me. Let go and make a mess all over me.”

He applied a little more pressure to your clit, kept up the same tempo and between that and the feel of his cock hitting you in just the way you liked, you were curling your toes in your heels, arching your back and shouting into the air. Your orgasm snapped like a rubber band, sharp and slapping on the ends before falling into the hot lava in your belly. The tempo of his thrusts slowed, lips parted as he whispered soft praises of—That’s it. Such a good girl. Take everything you need— into the space between your lips.

You were floating, smiling loosely up at him and curving your neck to give him access to press hushed affection into your skin. Even though you were blissed out beyond belief, you could see the lust still in his eyes, blown out pupils straining from holding back his own orgasm.

Wordlessly, you pushed him away, sighing pleasantly as he slid out of you. Your limbs were heavy and begging you to slip beneath the covers and sleep; but instead you rolled onto your hands and knees, arching until your chest pressed into the sheets and smiling confidently from the sound of him behind you.

“Shit,” he hissed, praying to whomever would listen for the woman in his bed, sinful black heels, a delicious arch in her back, creamy brown legs spread, panties soaked and pushed to the side, and a wet pussy winking at him. Kento watched in disbelief as you reached between your legs to spread yourself, pulling puffy folds of your pussy apart and chuckling softly from the vacant look in his eyes.

“You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are,” you muttered, eyes hooded as you watched him grab the base of his cock to stave off coming before making his way to you; pressing a hand against the cleft of your ass while the other gathered your slick on his cock and he slid home.

Within minutes, the faint traces of overstimulation from your last orgasm had bled into reawakening embers of the one you were about to experience. Kento slid a hand along your skin, snapping the edge of your panties against your hip before carding through the thin layer of sweat in the dip of your spine. His thrusts were unchanging, never ceasing even as he dug fingers into your neat bun and pulled your curls loose. They cascaded over your shoulders and his fingers carded through the tresses and around your neck, sliding against your cheek and jaw and pulling you up onto your hands so he could turn your head to the side and look at him.

Blonde hair was messy and matted to his forehead, free from its gel and sophisticated part and falling over to graze the tops of his serious eyes.

He was so beautiful. Even panting and red faced and a crazed look in his eyes, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“The sight of that man did make me angry,” he panted calmly against your lips. “He leered and ogled at you like he wanted to do the nastiest things. And while I was protective of you, I was never jealous. I have no reason to be. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, breaths shaking out from your lungs from the force of his thrusts. Cooling lava began to heat again from the look that he gave you.

“I have no reason to be because even if you ever gave him the chance, he would have no idea what to do.” Your pussy clenched hard around him from the implication of his words and he smiled around a groan before he slid a hot tongue along the skin of your shoulder before biting into the crease of your neck. You yelped. “He doesn’t know that you like to be talked through it, probably wouldn’t even know what to say. He doesn’t know that you need three fingers to stretch you open or that you like a tongue sliding on your skin and your ass slapped when you’re getting it just the way you want.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your hooded eyes were wide with disbelief as you panted and whimpered against his lips. Umber irises were thin rings as he spoke, his words filled with growing filth, but his expression just as calm and loving and serene.

“Shigemo can’t handle your nails down his back or the way you squeeze just right when I’m whispering in your ear. He couldn’t handle giving you the three, four, five orgasms you deserve before he’s had his fill.” He kissed you gently, a blatant contrast to the way his hips were smacking against the back of yours. “He doesn’t know any of it. He couldn’t handle any of it. But I do…and I can. Isn’t that right, baby?” You nodded furiously, blushing in every way imaginable, bashful from his words even though he was fucking you like you were being paid for it.

Unsatisfied with your lack of verbal response, he smacked your ass, the sound loud and feel stinging and surging with heat and pleasure that had you whimpering sharply against him.

“Yes! Y-yes, Ken—fuck!”

He hummed against you, kissing the skin of your shoulder in satisfaction. “Talk to me. Tell me what I can do better, baby.”

You shook your head quickly, curly tresses brushing against your cheeks and jolting from the thrusts of the man between your legs. The lava was hot again, oozing in the pit of your belly, bubbling and boiling over and fraying your nervous system to the point that your muscles were beginning to stiffen in response.

“Nothing better. It feels so good…you feel so good. Please, Kento.”

“Who’s fucking you right now?”

“You are..!” you whimpered, your thighs beginning to shake and your pussy tightening around him from his words and thrusts.

The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, the panting from your mouths, the whimpers and moans from your throat against his groans, and the sound of the headboard slapping against his wall. Vaguely, you thought of neighbors, but then you realized he had none and you could moan wantonly for as long as you wanted in his penthouse suite in the clouds of Nakameguro.

“Who always makes you feel this good?”

“You do—fuck, Ken!”

“Why?”

“Because you want me,” you whined, eyes filling with emotional tears and pleasure and need.

A hard thrust.

“Why, y/n.”

“Because you love me.” Another hard thrust and a squeak from your lips. “And I love you.”

“That’s my girl,” he exhaled into you, satisfaction and affection bleeding from his skin and onto your back. He guided you to arch your back again, letting you relax your cheek into the pillows before he picked up the pace inside of you with a hard grip on your hips and faint praises and kisses on your skin.

You were on fire, burning from the inside out as you crept closer and closer to coming harder than you ever had before. He had never spoken to you like this, had never teetered the line between aggression and lavish affection.

It was a foreign feeling, but you loved it.

You loved the way his teeth bit into your skin, loved the way he showered you with worship in the most outlandish way, loved the way muscular hips smacked against yours and the sound of faint moans leaving his own breath as he got closer to his end. A hand in your curls and a gentle tug made him pull your head back by your hair, arching into the sheets and bringing your growing moans into the air of his room.

You prayed to the gods that this orgasm would break the record for the most powerful that you would ever feel. There was no way you wouldn’t get there. Not when he was grabbing you just right, saying the right words, fucking you so well that you were convinced the cloudiness in your vision wasn’t tears anymore.

A harsh grunt from his lips and his fingers against your clit had your body clenching further and your fingers digging into the sheets below you.

“Cum for me, baby. Give me one more. One more for me, please and I’ll give you everything.”

You didn’t need much more encouragement. From the wet movements on your clit and the thick cock making a home inside of you, that cord of pleasure broke with little force and the waves that rushed through had you choking on a wail and shuddering to a degree that had yourself concerned. Your blood was pumping in your ears, sloshing and fast and muffling the sound of him groaning against the skin of your neck as he pumped with renewed fervor inside of you.

He was close, so close and sweaty and sloppy in his movements, balls drawing tight against him and a tingling along his skin. The feel of you tight and hot and even more wet around him made his blood boil and his lower back ache.

“Give it to me, Ken,” you turned your head and whispered against his lips, sweaty and satisfied. “Tear this pussy up and fill me to the brim.”

The nastiness of your words caught him by surprise and only catapulted him to his end, his orgasm ripping from the base of his spine as he twitched and tensed and spilled inside of you with a harsh moan and deep bite to the side of your neck. The sound of him moaning harshly faded into sighs against you, his teeth in your neck pulling away with a feel of his tongue sliding over the marks. He was shaking against your back as you relaxed into the sheets, basking in the warmth from him and the growing ache in your body.

When he could feel the air in his lungs again, and when the suddenly cold air against his sweaty skin made him shiver for a different reason, he slid out of you slowly, locking away the sound of your pleasant sigh as he did so. He sagged into the sheets, planting face first before turning his head to look at you. Your own cheek was pressed into his pillows, faint hints of eucalyptus and woodsy cologne tickling your nose as you blinked blearily at him and smiled gently.

You wanted to throw a little comment his way, a joke to make the moment weird like you usually did after sex. But just like Ome had annoyingly teased earlier today, Kento had dicked you down whole heartedly and thoroughly that you rolled your eyes from the smug look on his face.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he mumbled against you, chest rumbling along the skin of your back. You reach down into the hot water to grab the large hand once on your thigh. Pulling it out of the water with yours, watching as droplets fell off his smooth skin and back into the tub with you both, you carded your fingers through his.

“You fucked me pretty good.”

He snorted against the skin of your shoulder, watching as you wiggled your fingers between the crevices of his own.

“Don’t be crude.”

“Compared to what you were whispering in my ear as you fucked me within an inch of my life? Don’t even.” Kento chuckled, harsh and loud, rare and treasured that made you smile from the sound. “To be honest…I’m just happy. These past few weeks. Today. I’ve never felt this much pride besides when Ulani was born.”

He was quiet, not offering a response as you turned your clasped hands back and forth, watching the cords of muscle in his forearms bunch and ripple. The mouth on your shoulder puckered into a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re happy. Every last piece of happiness is what you deserve. You’ve worked hard your entire life, and now others can finally see what your family and friends see. What I see.” Your relaxed into his chest, angling your head up to look at him. Soft brown eyes looked back down at you, endless waves of love billowing from his skin to wash over you. “Do you finally see it? When I say that you have a gift?”

That wash of emotion you felt standing in front of Choso suddenly made itself known again. But it had coiled more, grew with more memories and smiles and words from everyone around you.

“All thanks to you,” you whispered up at him and was shocked from the scoff that he gave you in reply.

“The only thing I did was give you the words you needed to hear. I made that page for you, but you could have easily deactivated it. I organized a tour at Choso’s gallery, but I did nothing to inspire him to ask you for a commission or include you in his collection….I did the same for you as you did me. Turned you in the right direction and let yourself do the rest. This has all been you.”

Your eyes fluttered from the surge of tears that began to cloud your vision, pressing into him more to siphon every ounce of affection he had to spare.

“Even still,” you whispered, voice tight and strained. “I love you.”

He pressed his lips to yours in response, pulled away to kiss your cheek, the side of your neck where he had bit into you, the wet skin of your shoulder. Damp blonde strands brushed against you as he laid his cheek on your shoulder, turning his head into you to brush his nose along the column of your neck. A deep inhale from his chest, satisfied and blissfully happy, before exhaling against you and squeezing the hand that was still intwined with yours.

“I love you too.”

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