Work Text:
you’re a fresh college graduate who got lucky when your dad’s friend expressed need for a new personal assistant, someone to take calls and to bring him coffee. he never told you why his last assistant left, leaving you to find out on your own days later.
nanami is a good boss. he is a good man in general, but his inability to accept anything less than perfection had him burning the midnight oil almost every night. you couldn’t count on both your hands the amount of time you’d walked into his office at 1 in the morning to him passed out on his desk. you wake him gently, and call a cab to pick him up. “you’re in no shape to drive, mr. nanami,” you explain, and he thanks you.
you like your job. you like your desk, big and cluttered with paperwork, situated right next to the big double doors that lead to nanami’s office. you like the way he has you sit next to him in meetings, taking notes and listening sharply for important points. you like holding his black card when you buy coffee for him (black with two sugars, every single time) and yourself (whatever fancy milky, sugary concoction you feel like experimenting with today). you like your job, and it doesn’t hurt that your boss is so handsome too.
it almost makes up for the all nighters you pull to get the accounting numbers on his desk the next morning, almost makes up for the number of times you’ve had to excuse yourself from whatever you’re doing to pick up his kids because he forgets he’s in charge of them for the weekend. you learn from his kids (two adorable little girls in frilly dresses and pleated pigtails) that he and his wife don’t talk anymore, and you can’t help the wicked hope that fuels your heart.
nanami thanks you every time. he smiles (which is so rare), and tells you the same thing. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”
and you banter right back, “i think you’d be dead in a ditch.”
it’s true that you’re the one who keeps nanami in check. maybe it’s your job, maybe it’s the simmering adoration you have for the man who never fails to welcome his daughters into his office, letting them sit on his lap or stare out at the city view from the floor-to-ceiling windows as he works. he takes extra long lunch breaks when they come in, telling you to clear his schedule for an extra two hours so he can bring them to the nearby park. and you do, happily calling other merchants to tell them, “sorry, mr nanami requested to reschedule your meeting. would next wednesday be best for you?”
nanami loves his little assistant. loves the way you come in wearing beautiful silk blouses and little pencil skirts. he loves the way you dote on his daughters, and he knows about the secret detours to mcdonald’s drive thru’s to get ice cream (asami has little chocolate stains on her dress, and they’re a bitch to get out).
he thinks sometimes, you’d make a better mother for them than his wife. he’s tried to keep his loveless marriage at bay, out of his work life, but he sees the way your eyes soften when the girls talk about how their friends get picked up by both their parents, or how they go to birthday parties where the mommy and daddy are so happy together. he knows how your heart melts, and he wonders if you could ever see yourself as a mother.
so he invites you to suki’s birthday party. you look at him quizzically, wondering if he needs you to run errands or plan the party or call a coordinator, but he just laughs, reclining in his chair.
“i think suki would love to see you there,” he says, smiling gently. “you don’t have to do any work, just come and enjoy some cake.”
and you do. you show up to the function in a yellow sundress, armed with presents from suki that you spent all night wrapping. you saw this little girl like your own daughter- you’d prepped her lunch, picked her up from school, brought her to piano classes, so of course you’d spend your paycheck spoiling her.
suki squeals when she sees you, grubby little hands pulling you into a hug. nanami chuckles behind her, and offers to take the boxes off of you, and lays a warm hand on your back when he says, “thank you for coming, she loves to see you.”
you think maybe you could get used to this.
you stay the whole duration of the party. you meet nanami’s wife, who is sweet and kind but you understand why they separated. she’s snappy when nanami takes a call, worries a hole into her glove as she fidgets, drinks a little too much champagne than acceptable at a five year old’s birthday party. still, you think she’s admirable, and you think she’s a wonderful mother.
she leaves when the party is over, kissing her daughters goodbye and gives nanami a curt nod and lips pressed thinly together. she almost forgets you’re there, but you don’t mind. you busy yourself with cleaning cups and cutlery, and you watch as nanami sends the little girls off to his parents’ house for the night. you know they love their grandparents, and being out of nanami’s house means they get to stay up as long as they want.
you’re alone in the function room now, sweeping remnants of cake and crisps and childlike innocence. the both of you work in silence as the sun sets, bathing you in golden glow.
“thanks for helping out,” he says suddenly. “i really appreciate it.”
“anything for the girls,” you smile, tying trash bags closed and heaving them into the bins. “thanks for inviting me, mr nanami.”
“please,” he chuckles. “we’re not in the office today. just call me kento.”
a beat of silence crawls between the two of you. your heart is shaking, hoping that he’s going to say what you want him to say. in this sunset, you watch him work, his blonde hair sparkling in the light. has he always been this broad? he’s out of his usual work attire, donning a cotton mock neck that ends at his elbows, exposing his thick forearms. he’s delicious, but he’s also your boss.
“you look nice today,” he remarks, and you suddenly feel so conscious that this sundress ends a little above the knees, and every time you bend down, it rides up. you feel warmth creep into your cheeks.
“you too!” you feign composure, inwardly melting at the richness of his voice. “i didn’t even know you owned jeans.”
he laughs, and you drink it in. it’s cheery, so unlike him. you think maybe you want more of him like this, free from the clutches of his work, hair more unruly without gel, eyes so bright without his glasses.
he places the last trash bag in the bin, and flips it closed. the function room is spotless now, and you feel something so tangible between the two of you as he comes up behind you. “i should thank you,” he says. “why don’t you come upstairs and i’ll make you some dinner?”
you never say no to nanami kento. so you follow him up to his condo, where he makes you steak and potatoes, and shares a bottle of wine with you. you don’t drink enough to get drunk, but enough for a little buzz to settle under your skin. he’s put on some jazz in the background while he washes up, and you look at the apartment you’ve been in so often; to take care of his kids, to drop off last-minute documents, but it’s never looked like this. it’s never looked like a home before, lit by ambient lamps rather than the fluorescent overheads. and your heart is pulsing just a beat too fast, and suddenly you want to kiss him.
nanami kento would never take advantage of you. he would never make you do anything you didn’t want to, so when he sits down with you and asks if you enjoyed dinner, he doesn’t expect you to plant a kiss on his lips in response. he’s shocked, almost, and you pull back, mouth full and ready to apologise. fuck, i shouldn’t have done that, i’ll get fired and he’ll tell my dad and it’ll be on my record forever-
but now he’s closing the gap between the two of you again, pressing soft lips to yours. you taste the wine, you taste the dinner you just shared, you taste years of experience that you could never compete with. he asks you, “are you okay with this?”, eyes wide and filled with concern.
“i’ve never been better,” you tell him, and he kisses you again.
you two trip on the way to his bedroom, and thank god he’s sent his daughters off for the night because the way you’re moaning as he attaches his lips to your neck is almost pornographic. every piece of clothing he removes, he asks first, “can i take this off?” you think it’s sexy that he’s asking, you think you could never say yes faster as he drags two lithe fingers across your panties.
“shit,” he breathes as he feels you. “i’ve got you this soaked, huh?”
you whine; you can’t help it, you’re embarrassed that just kissing him has got you this debauched. he pulls your panties to the side, sliding his fingers with your slick. “nanami, i-” you gasp as he runs his fingertips over your clit. “fuck.”
he hums into your skin, a warm vibration buzzing through your body. he hooks his fingers on your waistband and tugs them down gently, guiding your hips up to pull them over the curve of your ass. you instinctively close your legs, knees touching, but one big palm forces them apart again, and the cool air hits your cunt almost painfully.
“keep them open for me,” he commands, running his fingers over your pussy again, feeling your slick and your warmth and god, he just wants to put them inside you and fuck you to an inch of your life, make you cream over and over on his fingers before he even takes his cock out of his pants. he wants to treat you right, and he will.
you listen to every word he says, treating them like gospel as he rubs circles into your clit. you keep your legs open for him, no matter how hot you burn with embarrassment, and he smiles at you. “good girl,” he murmurs, and you melt.
he can tell it does something to you. of course it does, his perfect little secretary who aims so high for the approval of her perfectionist boss. of course it makes you clench when he praises you, why wouldn’t it? you’ve worked so hard for him, and now you get your reward.
“kento,” you breathe. “w-wan’ your fingers, please.” your hand comes down to wrap around his wrist, almost like you were going to put them in yourself, but he knows his good girl would never do anything without his permission.
so he pulls his hand away, bringing them up to your face and taps your lips. you open so obediently, taking them into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his digits. you taste yourself on his fingers, and it’s enough that you’re practically moaning. it’s sweet and a little salty, and you love his fingers in your mouth, but right now you need them elsewhere.
you whine when he pulls them out, and he hushes you. “be good for me, baby,” he says, the pet name slipping past his lips without him even realising. but you love it. you almost cream around nothing, with the way his baritone voice whispers it so close to your ear. fuck, youre whipped for him, and he hasnt even fucked you yet.
slowly, he presses one finger into you. fuck, it’s warm in your cunt, your spongey walls sucking him in. “greedy little baby,” he remarks, languidly pumping his finger in and out of you.
“more,” you beg. “please, more,” and he obliges. what else could he do when he has his beautiful baby in his bed, writhing in his sheets, whimpering his name? he feels his cock twitch, but he wants this to be about you. a thank you for all you’ve done for him, for keeping him alive and in check.
he’s fucking his fingers in and out of you at a pace that has you squirming, breathless as he continues relentlessly, his thumb coming down to rub gentle circles in your clit. the coil in your stomach builds to a crescendo, and you gasp a warning for him. “k-kento- i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna-”
“gonna cum?” he hums, pace never slowing down. “so soon, angel? we’ve barely even begun.”
you whine, high pitched as it rips from your throat. you’re close, so close, you can practically see white already. his fingers make lewd squelching noises against your slick, but in your haze of pleasure, you can barely hear it.
“cum for me, babydoll,” he whispers against your neck, just loud enough for you to hear. “come on, cum all over my fingers.” and you’re gone, clenching around his nimble fingers that fuck you through it.
he pulls his fingers out and brings them up to his own mouth, tasting your release that coats them. he hums, “tastes good enough to eat. maybe next time,” and your cheeks burn at the prospect of a next time, next time, next time.
“kento,” you mewl, pawing at his chest. he looks at you, dark eyes adoring. he knows what you want, but he wants to hear you say it.
“hm?” he hums, taking his time drawing circles into the flesh of your thigh. “what is it? cmon, tell me.”
you’re fucked out, almost brainless, but you have enough in you to choke out, “wan’ you, w-wan’ your cock,” and he smiles.
“that’s my girl,” he praises, and you beam at him, tugging at his waistband, the cool metal of his belt buckle icy against your flushed skin. he lets you undo the buckle, and slides it off the loops, before unbuttoning his jeans and shucking them down his hips. you can see the bulge that presses hard against the constrains of his underwear- he’s huge, you can tell, and anticipation carves a hole in your stomach.
he frees his cock from his underwear, pulling the waistband down and toeing them off. your mouth waters at the sight of him; big, with a heavy girth, the head blushing red and you want so much to take it into your mouth but you know you need it somewhere else so much more. next time, you think, and you wonder if he’ll hold up to that promise.
you feel the tip of his cock run over your slick, catching on your clit and you gasp, back arching into him and you want him in you so, so bad, every thought incomprehensible, clouded with only him. “please, kento,” you beg, small fingers wrapping around his forearm that’s braced next to your head.
“i’m here, baby girl,” he says, taking his cock in his hand. he gives it a couple of pumps, inhaling sharply at finally being touched for the first time since you both begun your rendezvous, and pushes it gently against your warm cunt.
you gasp as he pushes into you, a strangled moan ripping through your throat. he’s bigger than anything or anyone you’ve ever taken, and he stretches you out so good. your mouth begins to babble, and in a small hiccuped voice, you say, “d-daddy, please.”
he stills inside you, and you squirm, bucking your hips into him to keep the friction going. “why di’ you stop?” you whine. “keep going, please kento, please.”
“say it again.”
you look at him confused, and he pushes another inch into you, muttering, “baby, say that again. tell me who you need.”
your brain works just barely enough to put pieces together, and small “daddy”s are rolling off your tongue, honeyed and wicked and music to his ears. he bottoms out inside you and you squeal, hands scrambling for purchase on his muscled back.
“my pretty girl,” he murmurs, his hips rocking into yours. you clench around him, panting small breaths as every thrust knocks breath out of you.
“‘sbig,” you whine, feeling painfully sensitive and overstimulated from your previous orgasm. “daddy, t-too much, you’re so big.”
“but you can take it, yeah?” he makes the mistake of glancing down where the two of you are connected, and catches the sight of the bulge he leaves in your tummy. something in him shifts, and he places one hand on the back of your thigh, angling even deeper. “i know you can. you’re my good girl, so much better than my wife. maybe i’ll leave her and marry you, give you a family of your own, yeah?”
his words are dizzying, and you hiccup a small, “mmhm! mmhm! wan’ your babies, wan’ your cum inside,” you’re half delirious, every brush of the tip of his cock against your cervix spiralling you even deeper into this brainless abyss. you have no idea what you’re saying anymore, just consumed by the feeling of his cock in you, his hands leaving kerosene trails on your thighs.
he thinks he loves this. he thinks he loves you, wants to make you his, now and forever. it’s more complicated than that, he knows, but what he would give to see you swollen with his kids, wake up next to you every day instead of cold canvas sheets. he wants you.
and you want him. you’re babbling, so close to your second release, muttering, “daddy, daddy, i’m so close, make me cum, please, daddy,” and it pushes him further to his own edge.
“you gonna c-come around my cock, babydoll?” he murmurs, hips stuttering as he holds back his own orgasm in favour of making you cum first. “cmon, cum for daddy, yeah?” and you do, washed over by blinding white as you cream around him for a second time. you gush, and he slows down his thrusts to help you along.
he’s close now, the clenching of your walls around him squeezing him so painfully. “where do you want me?” he asks, taking your chin in his fingers. your eyes barely focus on him, and it’s a miracle you can even gratify his answer with a slurred, “inside, inside” as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.
he squeezes your cheeks. “look at me, sweetheart, look at me while i cum in you,” and your eyes, glazed over, catch his gaze and he cums. he cums, scalding and deep inside of you, and you almost smile at the way he grunts your name in that sweet baritone of his.
you catch his lips in yours, tasting the sweet vermouth as he comes down from his high, and you both lie in the afterglow of your glittering desire. you whine as he pulls out, so devastatingly empty now, but he hushes you. he grabs a couple of tissues, cleaning up the mess you made, and you promptly pass the fuck out.
he smiles at you. maybe, he thinks, he could get used to this. you’ve taken care of him so much over the last few months, now it was his turn to take care of you.