suhsfam

381 posts

Your Wedding Night With Nanami Kento

your wedding night with nanami kento

pairing: nanami kento x afab reader contains: nanami fucking you in your wedding dress, oral sex (reciprocal), cowgirl, mating press, pregnancy/trying for a baby, aftercare, romantic fluff at the end. mood: romantic, passionate, tender author's note: as promised, i will open my fic requests soon, so please stay tuned. thank you for expressing your interest ! huge thanks to ayushnz for my banner !

The snow falls gently outside the window walls of your luxury chalet, but you’re surrounded by an encompassing warmth. Crackling flames dance in the grand fireplace, casting a warm and comforting glow across the room, permeating the air with the smoky-sweet scent of chestnuts and cedar wood.

You close your eyes and savor the gentle tinkling sound of ice swirling inside a crystal glass as your husband, Nanami Kento, fixes himself a drink from the kitchen behind you. He raises his head and leans to see what you’re up to, then he smiles fondly as he sees you on the couch—still dressed in your silk wedding gown, your body slumped against the backrest of the sofa as you bask in the warmth from the fireplace.

“Darling, don’t you want to change into something comfortable?” he asks.

“Nope,” you reply with a cheeky smile. “It’s not everyday you get to wear a wedding dress.”

“You can always wear it again," he says. "Or wear it everywhere if you love it that much."

“I just might,” you taunt. “Imagine wearing this to the grocery store.”

He chuckles and strides towards the back of the sofa and snakes a firm hand along your smooth neck, tilting your head upwards to look at him. Your lips curl into a smile as you gaze into his eyes, the warm light shining behind his blonde hair like a halo.

Then you notice the slight tension in his shirt buttons and the tautness of the fabric across his chest—his tuxedo straining to contain the contours of his muscular physique. A potent mix of sophistication and raw physicality.

You take his hand and stand from the sofa, planting your bare feet on the plush carpet.

“Dance with me,” you say. “I don’t want this night to end yet.”

Nanami chuckles, “I thought you said your legs were hurting.”

“In my heels! Come on. Please? Indulge your wife a little.”

Wife. Nanami couldn’t help but smile. To hear the word from your own lips, sweet and airy against his ears, sends a fresh wave of joy and fulfillment in his chest.

“Fine,” he says in mock surrender. “What kind of a husband would I be if I denied you your whims?”

You giggle and pull him by the fireplace, taking his drink and setting it down the coffee table. Nanami wraps his large hands around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. He begins to sway you in a slow circle. And you run your palms up his biceps, folding your arms around his shoulders.

The room is silent, save for the faint cackling of the fire, the shuffling of your dress against his suit, and your slow breathing that grows heavier and shallower the longer you gaze into each other’s eyes.

Nanami squeezes your hips as his eyes wander south, taking in the swell of your cheeks, your soft lips, and the graceful curve of your neck. Then down to your collarbone and your breasts, smooth and pretty as they sit on the neckline of your dress. The warmth of the fireplace can no longer compare to the searing heat that's rising from his body.

“So, what song is playing in your head right now?” you ask. “What are you dancing me to?”

Nanami shrugs, turning his attention back to your eyes.

“There is no song. Just you.”

You smile. And he leans down to press his lips against yours, gentle and warm, that deepens the moment you part your lips and caress his tongue with your own, tasting the bittersweet vanilla of whiskey in his mouth. He bends you backwards into his arm as his lips grow insistent and unyielding—kissing you with a passion that draws your breath from your lungs and moans it back to you.

His lips drag down your neck, his tongue soft and hot against your quickening pulse, his hands firm around your body and on your breast. You feel a sudden surge of helplessness and greed, a spike of pleasure in your core that fades into a dull and throbbing ache.

Suddenly, somehow, his lips weren’t enough for you.

You sink down the floor, knees weak, head spinning, the skirt of your gown blooming beneath you. You dig your fingers into his belt, into his button, into his waistband—your hands clumsy and hurried as you shuffle between groping and undressing. Nanami grunts and quickly undoes his pants, and his cock smacks you in the face as it springs from his briefs, thick and heavy against your cheek, dotting your skin with his precum.

“Rude,” you quip, laughing as you grab his cock. Whatever Nanami wanted to say dies into a moan the moment your tongue flutters against his tip.

His head alone, pink and fat and bulbous, was enough to make you unhinge your jaw. Your fingers could barely touch your thumb when you wrapped your hand around his hot and massive shaft. And it pulses and pounds against your palm, almost like a heartbeat. And his thick and firm veins curl underneath his skin like tree roots.

You find it amusing for a man as considerate and as gentle and as kind as Nanami Kento to have a cock that looks this furious.

And for all the nights you’ve spent together, not once have you succeeded in cramming all of his cock down your throat. But perhaps it’s because this night is special that you’re all the more determined to try.

Your lips sink past his colossal tip. Then you start swaying your head in short and shallow bows, adding a centimeter of length with each downstroke. Nanami drags his fingers along the back of your head, cupping your nape with a large, warm hand.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he mutters. “It feels good when you stroke it, too…”

You hum your disagreement and sink your head further, his tip now pushing against your soft palate. Nanami realizes you have taken on a challenge for yourself. And so he begins to encourage you; his thumb massages your jaw to relieve the stiffness, he nods approvingly as you take on more of his length, his salty-sweet precum drips onto your tongue and you take the viscous dew as liquid courage—emboldening you to pull him further and further inside your throat.

A drool escapes the corner of your lips, which Nanami promptly wipes with his thumb.

“You can do it, darling,” he whispers, his eyes lidded from the pleasure, his cheeks flushed deep red. “Almost there… yeah… you’re doing so well.”

But then you stop moving, with your stretched lips so, so close to the root of him, and withdraw until you’re back to sucking his crown.

Nanami sighs, thinking you have reached your limit. But before he says his reassurances, you drive your head down in a single stroke, shoving his cock down your throat from root to tip.

“Agh!” Nanami groans, grabbing your hair by surprise. “Fuck— Fuck… Baby… ”

You start sucking his cock with feral greed—with your lips tightening and your cheek hollowing each time you sway your head. Nanami grunts and groans as his head bobs up and down your tight throat, his abs quaking from the pleasure. You feel his cock twitch and rumble against your tongue as Nanami edges closer and closer to his climax.

“Alright… Stop—Stop… Honey, that’s enough,” he pants for mercy, his fingers curl around the back of your neck. “Please, please… I’m too close…”

You hold still. Then you press your lips hard around the root of his cock to mark it with your lipstick before sliding him out of you with a gasp, finally catching your breath.

“God…” he pants, his lips curling into an open smile, with wisps of laughter mingling with his breath. “That was… amazing…”

“You almost doubted me there,” you call out, laughing.

“I was just worried…” he replies as he caresses your hair.

You stick your tongue out to give his head one last lick, but Nanami shifts his hips and points his cock away.

“Seriously, darling,” Nanami says with a firm tone. “I don’t want to cum just yet.”

You pout at him in response, but that only makes Nanami smile. He loves the way you make him feel so desperately desired.

He kneels and lays you down on the soft carpet. Then his hands run up your legs, raising your skirt to your hips.

“I’m guessing the dress stays on?” he asks.

“Obviously,” you reply. You tug at his lapel. “And so does the suit.”

He smiles and your lips meet once again. Your fingers slip past the thin lace of your panties and draw circles against your core, eager to make yourself wet and ready as quickly as possible. But Nanami grabs your wrist and peels your hand away.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he mutters. “That's my job.”

You whine in protest, which he smothers with a kiss. You feel his rough palm slide upwards your inner thigh, higher and higher, until his fingers press against your downy outer lips.

Not this again… you think to yourself as your husband rubs his fingers up and down your mons—massaging you with just enough pressure to tease your poor, untouched clit. A simple ‘yes’ and ‘please’ would not suffice for a gentleman like Nanami. You would have to beg, breathlessly, as your thighs shake and as your pussy aches, to convince him you want more than what he’s giving you.

“Just relax and feel me,” he whispers into your ear, as his light and teasing touches grow firmer and surer. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

So you relax your back on the carpet, your head resting against his thick forearm, kissing him as his fingers glide around and around your slick clit. Each gentle stroke of his fingers pulls you further into ecstasy; a pleasure rivaled only by the way his firm tongue rolls against yours, with the taste of whiskey in his saliva pouring down your throat. He tastes like heaven, you think to yourself. You wouldn’t mind if this sensation kills you.

Nanami drags his tongue along the side of your neck, raising goosebumps from your flesh. He makes his way across your torso, kissing you through the soft silk of your dress, from chest to belly, until he makes his way between your legs.

“Please, baby,” you whisper, your breath stock-still in anticipation.

You spread your legs wider, showing him your sopping wet pussy, veiled ever so delicately by the floral embroidery of your wedding panties. Nanami hooks his fingers against the silk lace and peels it down, down, across your thighs and calves. The look in his eyes swing from soft and reverent to sharp and ravenous as he wrestles between the desire to worship you and the hunger to consume you.

“So beautiful,” he sighs to himself, as if in a trance. “God, you’re so beautiful. My woman…”

Nanami takes a deep breath, as if to compose himself, and sinks down to kiss a path along the inside of your legs. Every single kiss feels deep, famished, venerating, as if you had been so generous to let him taste you this way. And so he wouldn’t waste your grace by leaving a single inch of your skin untouched or unkissed. You slide your fingers through his locks and grab him, pulling him closer towards your core.

He licks a stripe upwards your pussy and your mind dissolves into mist.

“Fuck,” you gasp as he rolls a firm and succulent tongue around and around your softest parts, tickling and soothing and warming up your core. “O-oh god, yes.”

Nanami groans as he tastes you, aroused by your sounds and the smooth texture of your slit against his tongue. He takes a brief moment to squeeze his cock for some relief before he plants his rough hands on your thighs to spread you wider. His lips close around your clit, kissing it, tugging it, sucking on it, then dragging a wide tongue to reset his rhythm and tease you again.

“You taste so good,” he whispers. “And so goddamn soft.”

Your pleasure plateaus and your pussy drips down his chin, sweet like nectar, thick and slithery like cream. You start moving your hips, rubbing your cunt against the hot and fleshy cushion of his tongue. Nanami slides in a finger and you nearly burst from the way he hooks it firmly against your g-spot, fingerfucking you to the razor-edge of pleasure.

But then he stops and pulls away. And the absence of his mouth is chilling. You plant your forearm against your eyes, trying to drag your spinning soul back into your body, trying to drag some air into your lungs. Nanami watches you as he jacks his cock back into fullness.

“Darling…” he murmurs, trying to nudge your arm from your eyes. “Look at me while I’m putting it in… Please?”

You meet his gaze and he leans down, framing your head between his forearms, his torso pressed flush against yours. He traces your cheeks with the rough and calloused pads of his fingertips, his eyes softened by sincerity, awe, devotion. You look beautiful—sprawled out underneath him, lips parted, eyes lidded, nipples peeking from above your neckline. I belong to her. I’m hers, he thinks to himself. And so he looks you in the eyes as he offers himself to you.

He lines his cock towards your entrance and sinks. Then he pushes, withdraws, pushes, withdraws, fucking you with gentle, shallow strokes, teasing you with the fat crown of his cock, waiting until you are ready to take more of him.

“How deep do you want me to go, darling?” he asks.

“This deep,” you whisper, pointing at the lipstick mark you left around the root of his cock. You grab his backside to pull him deeper, guiding him to your rhythm, “I want all of you.”

He lets you move his hips, to tease and stretch yourself on his cock, pulling him closer and closer until you’re suctioned together hip-to-hip. You both grunt in pleasure and relief. He’s so deep that you can feel him press against your womb, so thick that you can feel his veins against your walls. Nanami shifts and folds his arms around your body, pressing his forehead against the curve of your neck. You reach upwards and embrace him, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck to soothe him. You both take a moment to relish the way you are connected, body and soul.

“I’m yours,” you whisper to him.

“I’m yours, too…” he whispers, almost breathlessly. “Yours, always yours… Oh honey, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses your forehead and starts thrusting—long and languid and rhythmic, letting you feel every inch in every angle. Your bodies are pressed so closely together that you can feel the contours of his abs underneath his dress shirt. His breath is hot against your ear as he grunts and moans.

“God I love it when I fuck you slow,” he sighs, almost to himself. You can feel the bass of his voice vibrate in his chest. “I need you to feel me. Really feel me, darling.”

He angles his cock and drags his thick and heavy tip against every delicious spot until it’s pressed flush against your cervix. Again and again and again. And the pleasure is strong, rich, deep, sustained, like gliding a heavy bow against violin strings. It resonates throughout your body, tightening your stomach, hardening your nipples, curling your toes—stoking your desire to near desperate heights.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you whine.

You push him to the side and you roll your bodies over. Nanami holds you steady as you position yourself on top, careful not to slip his cock out from inside you. You brace the heel of your palms against his chest and start grinding.

“Sorry,” you pant as your pace gathers speed. “I was getting impatient.”

“No, sweetheart,” he laughs softly, looking up at you with glazed eyes, showing you the endless pool of desire beneath the catchlight. “You know you can do whatever you want to me.”

You take his hands and press them against your breasts, holding them steady as you fuck yourself senseless on his cock, grinding your clit against the soft hairs of his groin, rubbing his thick shaft against your walls. Nanami throws his head back, biting his lip. Grunting. Swearing. Trying his goddamn best not to explode from the way you’re working on him.

The sight of you on top of him is overwhelming. But then he looks away and sees your shadow on the wall. He sees the way your waist and hips gyrate in a desperate spiral. He sees the curves of your breasts, the arch of your back, the parting of your lips—his wife. His beautiful wife. Frantic, erotic, enraptured by desire.

Your rhythm falters from exhaustion and it snaps him from his trance.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he sighs, sitting up and holding you in his arms. “Let me… let me do all the work.”

Nanami rocks you from side to side as he folds his legs underneath him. Then he starts to move his hips, bouncing you on his lap as if you’re weightless. You cry out, wrapping your arms and legs around his body.

“What can I do to make you come, baby?” he pants. “Tell me…”

“I want… More… Just more,” you whimper. “Please, Kento, please…”

Nanami lays you back down the carpet. Then he hooks his hands under your knees and raises your legs towards your head, as high as your thighs would comfortably allow, curling your body skyward. The stretch of your muscles burn, but it’s a pain that dances along the edges of pleasure. With your ankles hooked over your husband’s shoulders, his thrusts have never felt so deep—with the force of gravity adding power to the downward swing of his hips. So much power that the slap of his skin against yours echo through the halls, leaving you more full than hollow from the speed of his thrusts.

“God, you feel too good. Oh, you’re too good for me, darling. So fucking good to me,” Nanami rambles. “Tell me you’re close… Tell me you’ll come for me… I need to feel you, please.”

You feel the rhythm of his hips. The heavy drag of his cock. The fierceness of his kiss. The warmth of his breath. The cold metal of his zipper. The silk of your dress. His hard forearms. His scent. His grunts. Your toes pointing and curling. Your nipples brushing against your neckline. Your clit rubbing against his groin. It’s excruciating. It’s divine. To cram all of this heavenly pain and pleasure on a single person.

You allow yourself to surrender to it all.

“Close… so close,” you whimper breathlessly, clawing at his sleeves. “Baby, I think… I think I’m gonna…”

One thrust, strong and sure, against your weakest, most pleasurable spot, was enough for your orgasm to seize your body like a lightning strike. Your stomach curls and you release a long, animalic grunt, your limbs convulsing from the throes of pleasure.

“There you go… attagirl,” he grunts, his hips picking up the pace, chasing his own pleasure. “Attagirl, keep going, keep going…”

He swoops down to capture your lips with his own, swirling his soft tongue against yours, drinking in your cries and your moans. Then he curses into your mouth and you feel a burst of warmth underneath your belly, flooding your chamber with his seed until it spills. Nanami grinds his hips against yours even tighter, plugging you with his length and girth, not willing to waste even a single drop. If the gods are kind, this lovemaking will bear you a child.

Your legs drop boneless down the carpet. While Nanami buries a damp forehead on the crook of your shoulder. And together, you fall into weighted silence, your minds adrift on the cloud-sea of euphoria. Your ears are still too full of each other’s heavy moans and desperate pleading. Your eyes are still too full of each other’s skin. Your minds, still too full of each other’s passion. You have nothing more to say to him at that moment, but Nanami has much more tenderness to express.

He grinds his hips against yours one last time and pulls himself out, slowly, gently, as if you would unravel if he moves without care. And in a way, you do feel less composed, less grounded, less corporeal, now that you are no longer tethered to his body.

He begins to undress you, to undress himself. Heat dances on your naked skin from the fireplace, painting shadows that sway along the contours of your body. Then he leans down to scoop you from the carpet and into his arms. You rest your head against his hard shoulder, breathing in the amber-honeyed spice of his scent, as he carries you into the indoor onsen.

He steps into the stone bath and your bodies sink into the searing waters, part by part, from feet to thighs to stomach, until you are fully submerged and cradled in his lap.

“Are you alright, honey?” he asks, wiping a lock of hair away from your brows. He kisses your temple as he waits for your answer.

“I’m great,” you groan, smiling. He feels your teeth against his neck. “Probably our best yet.”

Nanami smiles. He scoops up a handful of water and pours it down your shoulder, cleansing you, warming you. “You say that every time.”

“But it’s true!” you reply. “I think this is the one, I can definitely feel a baby forming in there.”

“Is that how it works? Can you really feel a baby get conceived?”

“Well, no, but like, sometimes, I think, if we’re gonna conceive a baby, it has to be from like, a sex full of love, you know? Like, good sex, but also love sex—lovemaking—wait it’s not like there’s no love whenever we fuck but like—this one is just—”

He squints at you, confused by your rambling. You pause and pout.

“Babe, you just dick-scrambled my brain, don't expect me to be coherent.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I understand what you mean. You just want our baby to be made with love. Lots of it.”

“Exactly!”

He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, your shoulder. It tickles, so you laugh, your body twisting away from him and towards him.

“And that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” he mutters. “I guess we’ll have our work cut out for us once we fly to Malaysia.”

You wrap your arms around him. “You never explained why you’re so obsessed with that place.”

Nanami’s head jerks in incredulity.

“I wouldn’t call it an obsession,” he says, as if he never spammed you with Facebook videos and fun facts about Kuantan. You shoot him a look and he sighs. “I saw an advertisement on the train one night and it has been on my mind ever since.”

“Wow… that’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, you talked about going there like it had so much meaning. Like maybe your parents took you there as a kid.”

Nanami shakes his head, “It’s just a photo I saw on a horrible day. Maybe it didn’t even have to be Kuantan. Or Malaysia. Maybe any place that’s warm and cheap and tropical would have been enough. I just wanted an escape.”

Nanami hears the conversation continue in his head. An escape from what? you might ask. Life, he might say. That relentless grind for money. Of meaningless, thankless labor. The soul-crumpling loneliness of a single bed. A single bowl. A single set of chopsticks. An empty chair across his dining table.

Life before he met you.

“I don’t feel that way anymore,” he adds, smiling down at you. “I just want to see the place for myself.”

You smile and rest your head back down on his shoulder. Nanami closes his eyes and plants his cheek on the top of your head, his arms firm around your body. With gentle fingers, he traces your hair, the skin of your spine, soft and fine like sand, warm like the sun. The salt of your scent is invigorating. And your breath is a gentle breeze against his skin.

I’ve already escaped, is what he meant to tell you. Back from when you opened your arms to him and showed a place where he can run. And since then, he has made a home for his soul in the oasis of your heart. Safe and free and living at last.

thank you for giving this fanfic a chance! one of my goals was to write a nanami one shot, and it took a long while because i wanted to be good enough to write him. i hope i gave him justice in this fic !

originally posted on ao3