content: nanami discovers you, his beautiful wife is infatuated with his best friend hiromi. driven by jealousy, nanami decides to do the most bizarre thing he could think of—a proposal.
pairings: husband!nanami × fem!reader × best friend!hiromi
note: the equivalent to breaking up with your partner and ovulating + horny gets us 5 PURE smut fics..this is not proofread, it was 3am when this was written and nghh I love the thought of sub hiromi..
w.c. 1.8k
🏷 @yorikae
Nanami sat on the couch, staring at your phone screen. The chat history with your closest friend was still open. Months of messages confessing how badly you wanted his best friend, Hiromi Higuruma—how you wondered what his long fingers would feel like, how his voice would sound moaning your name, how you touched yourself thinking about him.
Naturally, seeing your wife having these lustful thoughts about your best friend would surely fill you with rage right?
No. Instead of rage, Nanami felt a dark, possessive heat settled in his chest. Without much thought in mind, Nanami texted Hiromi using his phone to come over for drinks.
When Hiromi arrived, loosening his tie after a long day, Nanami poured two glasses of whiskey and got straight to it.
"I found something on my wife's phone today," Nanami said calmly, sliding the phone across the table.
Hiromi read a few lines. His face went pale, then flushed deep red. "Kento...I swear I never knew—"
"I know. But is the feeling one sided Hiromi?" Nanami interrupted, voice steady. "Don't insult me by lying."
Hiromi swallowed hard, setting his glass down on the table. "She's your wife and I respect you too much to ever act on it but...I've tried to ignore it for months. Every time she smiles at me, I can't help myself."
Nanami took a slow sip of his drink, staring at Hiromi as he admits in shame. "So, you're saying you get hard thinking about her?"
A long silence stretched. Hiromi ran a hand through his hair, visibly conflicted. "Yes," he finally admitted, voice rough. "I do. I hate myself for it. If you want to end our friendship I understand."
Hiromi's eyes found Nanami's, looking up at him nervously. He and Nanami had been friends for years, truth to be told, Hiromi hated the thought of losing his friendship with Nanami but if that's what he wanted—he had no say in the matter.
Nanami leaned forward. "Mmm..no. I have another thought in mind for you and her."
"What?"
"I'll share her with you. One night. You get to fuck my wife, just like you've had in those perverted fantasies of yours." Nanami's voice stayed calm, but his knuckles were white around the glass, telling a complete different story.
"Right now, she's upstairs, blindfolded expecting some silly surpide from me. If she says no, it won't happen. But I know my wife and she'll say yes."
Hiromi looked stunned, breathing uneven. Well what the fuck? "Is this a joke..? Aren't you angry?"
"No. But I'm jealous as hell," Nanami admitted.
"But I also love her and seeing her happy. And you're my best friend are you not? I love you and love seeing you happy too," he trails off, watching Hiromi's face heat up at his words. "If I'm being honest...the thought of you two fucking makes me hard too. Are you in, or are you going to keep jerking off to the fantasy of my wife for the rest of your life?"
Hiromi stared at him for a long moment, warring with himself. Finally, he exhaled shakily. "O-okay."
.
.
.
You were blindfolded and laying on the bed in nothing but a silk robe when the men entered the room. Your heart was racing with excitement, thinking it was just Nanami planning something special. Afterall, he left you like this for a few minutes.
"Baby..? Finally where were you..?"
"Take the blindfold off, sweetheart," Nanami said softly, ignoring your question.
You did as asked, eyes widening as you saw who stood behind him. The sight of Hiromi standing there made your stomach flip. Your face burned with embarrassment and shock.
"H-Hiromi...? Ken what...what is this?" your voice trembled as you pulled the robe tighter around yourself instinctively, thighs pressing together.
Nanami sat on the edge of the bed and cupped your cheek. "I saw your messages. I know how badly wanted him, he does too." his thumb brushed your lip gently. Your heart stopped at his words. He knew? Well fuck. He didn't seem mad however..?
"Tonight, you can have us both. If you want of course, it's all your choice sweetheart."
You looked between them—your husband and his flustered, hungry best friend. Your pussy was already aching at the thought of having both the men you craved so much. The previous guilt inside of you slowly disappear.
"Okay," you whispered, cheeks flushed red already. "I do want it..I want both of you."
Nanami's eyes darkened with satisfaction. "Good girl.
Nanami glanced at Hiromi, a grin finding his face. "Watch."
He stood and unzipped his slacks, pulling out his thick, heavy cock. "On your knees, sweetheart. Show Hiromi how well you suck your husband's cock."
You slid off the bed eagerly, dropping to your knees. You looked up at Nanami with pure lust, then glanced shyly at Hiromi before wrapping your lips around your husband's cock. You took him deep immediately, moaning around his thickness as you bobbed your head.
It wasn't the first time you've given your husband a blowjob, if anything you only knew how to take him so well thanks to his teaching.
"Fuck, look at her.." Hiromi breathed, palming himself.
Your husband groaned, hand resting on your head. "That's it baby nice and sloppy. Show him what a greedy little slut you are for me."
You did just as he asked. Drooling, gagging yourself on his cock, sucking hard while stroking the base. You made obscene wet sounds, eyes watering as you deepthroated him. Nanami's control started to slip, his hips rocked forward, fucking your throat as he gripped your hair.
"So desperate for cock aren't you?"
You whimpered around him in confirmation, sucking harder. The humiliation and thrill made your thighs clench, feeling so turned on.
Nanami's grip tightened. "I'm close—fuck, swallow every drop like the good wife you are."
And you did, with a groan, Nanami came hard down your throat.
You swallowed eagerly, milking him with your mouth until he was spent, then licked him clean with a satisfied smile. Nanami pulled out, breathing hard as he looked down at you. His beautiful mess.
"Your turn, Hiromi. Make her feel good." Hiromi approached you as lay back on the bed, nervous but aching. "W-where do you want me..?" he asked you, his voice nervous. His eyes trails down, looking at your body with desire.
"Here Hiro....please fuck me." you parted your thighs for him, fingers trailing down to spread yourself for him. Giving him a perfect view of how wet you were. He groaned and climbed between your legs. He rubbed his long, curved cock against your dripping folds, teasing your clit before slowly pushing in.
"Oh my.." you moaned as he stretched you open. "You're so deep.."
Hiromi sank in inch by inch until he was fully buried, eyes fluttering. He was way longer than Nanami—that was for sure.
But your husband without a doubt won with how big he was. "Shit..you feel even better than any fantasy. So tight and wet for me." He started slow and deep, grinding into you with long, deliberate strokes. His nose brushed your neck as he kissed and bit along your collarbone.
The pace gradually built—deeper, harder and needier. "So fucking perfect," he panted, gripping your thighs and spreading you wider. "I've wanted this pussy for months. Every time I saw you I got hard thinking about bending you over."
You were desperate, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. "Harder—Hiro please.." He snapped his hips faster, fucking you with rough, hungry strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room.
He reached down to rub your clit while pounding into you, drawing it out, making you feel every inch. Nanami watched as his best friend fucked his wife, stroking himself slowly, jaw tight with jealousy and arousal. "I'm gonna cum Hiro..!"
"Cum on his cock, sweetheart" Nanami ordered.
You shattered hard, crying out as your pussy clenched around Hiromi. He whimpered but kept thrusting through it.
"Can I—Kento..can I cum inside her?" Hiromi asked, voice strained and desperate.
Nanami'a eyes flashed. "Yeah. Breed her needy little cunt."
The confirmation was all Hiromi needed. He buried himself deep and came with a broken moan, pumping thick ropes of cum into your pussy. He stayed inside you for a moment, panting.
After Hiromi pulled out, Nanami laid you on your back and kissed you gently before breaking the kiss and turning to Hiromi.
He grabbed Hiromi by the back of the neck and pulled him in—slamming his lips against the man before him. The kiss was rough and possessive on Nanami's end.
Hiromi melted instantly. A soft, surprised whimper escaped him as he submitted, lips parting eagerly. His body leaned into Nanami's, almost pliant, hands gripping Nanami's shirt like he needed support.
Nanami dominated the kiss completely—tongue sliding deep, claiming his best friend's mouth while Hiromi's eyes fluttered shut in submission.
You watched, soaked and throbbing, as Hiromi completely gave in—submissive and needy under your husband's control.
They finally broke apart. Hiromi was flushed, lips swollen, breathing shakily and looking dazed. Nanami on the other hand looked satisfied.
"I should have done that long ago." He murmured before turning back to you. "Ready for both of us baby?"
They positioned you to fit their liking and Nanami slid into your pussy from behind while Hiromi pushed into you from the front. The stretch was overwhelming—you cried out, shaking as both thick cocks filled you completely—staying still to give you a moment to adjust.
"Mnghh...so full—hah.." you whined, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
They wait a second longer before starting to move—alternating thrusts at first, then finding a rhythm together. Their cocks rubbed against each other inside you with every stroke. It was obscene, overwhelming and perfect.
You didn't last long, the dual simulation was too much, the next thrust to your cervix had you screaming, pussy spasming violently around both cocks as you cum again.
Nanami groaned, feeling the way you clenched so tightly around them, along with the feeling of his best friend's cock rubbing against him he doesn't last. His hips stuttered, flooding your cunt with his cum.
Nanami grabbed Hiromi's hair, tugging his face closer to his and kissing once more.
Hiromi loses it right after, moaning into Nanami's mouth as he pumped you full. Their cocks twitched and rubbed together inside your cum filled cunt as they emptied themselves.
They stayed buried and your eyes fluttered exhaustion slowly taking over you. Nanami kissed your sweaty forehead tenderly. "You were perfect, my love."
Hiromi pressed soft kisses to your neck, still catching his breath. "So perfect.."
You could only smile at their words.
Nanami's eyes went to his best friend, a nasty gleam in his eyes. "My wife's all spent..how about I fuck you next hmm?"
Hiromi's eyes widened, his face turning beet read as he started at Nanami. "W-what the hell? No?!"
"Mm...you're saying no yet I feel you twitching alive again Hiro.."
you’ve been crushing on your professor for weeks now, and after visiting his office hours he decides he can’t keep pretending he doesn’t want you too. mdni.
warnings: fingering, slow burn(ish), semi-public sex, power dynamic, student x professor, female anatomy, they do it on the desk, he’s a mess.
Being in Professor Nanami’s class was supposed to be easy. At least, that’s what all your friends said. He never assigned unnecessary work, graded fairly, and dismissed lectures exactly when the clock struck the hour.
You were looking forward to it, until his presence started driving you insane.
Maybe it was the way he always looked so composed. Even at eight in the morning, his tie was perfectly straight, his sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms, and his expression as unreadable as ever.
Or maybe it was the fact that his eyes were so pretty, that his hair looked soft enough to run your hands through, the veins in his forearm when he braced a desk.
It made you swelteringly dizzy. You told yourself it was just respect, but respect didn’t make your stomach twist when someone walked into a room.
It became a habit before you realized it. Arriving to class early just to watch him organize his notes. Pretending to write while your eyes followed the movement of his hands across the whiteboard. Memorizing the sound of his voice explaining concepts you barely retained because you were too busy watching the way his jaw tightened whenever someone interrupted him.
It was embarrassing.
Worse, it wasn’t a secret anymore.
Your friends had caught on weeks ago.
The stolen glances. The way your attention sharpened whenever he spoke. The way you suddenly found every excuse possible to attend office hours.
You denied it every single time. Because what exactly were you supposed to admit? That your pulse sped up whenever he called your name? That you spent an unreasonable amount of time wondering what he looked like outside of campus?
That you’d touched yourself to the mere thought of it on multiple occasions? That you had to squeeze your thighs together for relief when you caught the smell of his cologne?
—
The rain started halfway through your walk to class. Not a drizzle, but a miserably cold downpour.
It had been sunny 10 minutes ago, and now you were trudging to Nanami’s class in a tank top that could be squeezed out and hair plastered to your face.
You should have turned around and grabbed an umbrella, but it was too late. Instead you lingered outside the science building beneath an awning, hoping you could pull yourself together before he saw you.
You know you shouldn’t care about what he thinks, but wearing tighter clothes and more mascara around him became a habit.
You’d be mortified if he…
“You’re soaked.”
You nearly jumped out of your skin. That voice. The one that haunted your dreams.
You turned and there he was.
Professor Nanami stood a few feet away beneath the shelter of the overhang, one hand in his pocket, a dark umbrella resting over his shoulder.
Your eyes subconsciously flicked over him.
“It’s fine.” Heat flooded your face. He was perfectly dry. Of course he was.
His eyes moved over you once. Taking in your dripping hair. Your soaked sleeves. The water literally running off your backpack.
“It isn’t.” He sighed, like the situation was troublesome and though you wanted him to care, you didn’t know why he did.
He looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure nobody was around and took off his blazer jacket.
Before you could protest it was being draped over your shoulders and pulled shut.
You froze. This wasn’t happening. There was absolutely no way this was happening.
“Professor—“
“Keep it on.”
You looked at him, then back at the jacket, and back at him. What if somebody saw?
“No.”
“No?” His eyebrow lifted.
“I can’t wear your jacket.”
“You can.”
“I absolutely cannot.”
“You’re shivering, nobody has seen me today. It’s my first class, keep it.” He turned on his heels and walked inside, his biceps budging against his button down.
You didn’t know whether or not to follow, feeling as though you were ankle deep in mud.
“Class starts in 5.” He mumbled over his shoulder, disappearing down a corridor.
—
A week had gone by, and Professor Nanami’s blazer was still hanging on the back of your bedroom door.
You wanted to give it back, but it still smelled so strongly of him it had become a guilty pleasure of yours.
But his office hours were today and you knew that eventually your stern professor would want his stuff back.
So you fisted the cloth and tore it down, preparing to haul it to him, but not before dousing it in your most expensive perfume.
You probably shouldn’t have. You probably should have cared.
—
Your knuckles wrapped against the door to his shut office, and you knew your racing heart was a sign of nerves.
“Come in.” The voice was muffled, but stern, definitely him.
You pushed the door open. The familiar scent of coffee and expensive cologne hit you first, uniquely him.
Professor Nanami sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, glasses low on his nose as he looked over a stack of papers. A half-finished mug rested beside him.
“Close the door.” He didn’t look up, and your stomach flipped.
You stepped inside and nudged the door shut with your shoulder. Only then did his eyes lift, and you could have sworn they dragged over your body.
“I uh— brought your jacket back.” You could feel heat riding up your neck. It happened every time you were near him and you didn’t know how to stop it.
You tossed the fabric down on his desk, and the perfume you sprayed wafted in the air. Immediately his expression changed and you knew he smelled it.
Quietly you hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were gone, but his eyes were burning into the fabric now and you shifted uncomfortably.
He stiffened, swallowing hard. Was he angry? God you hoped he wasn’t angry.
“Thanks.” He murmured between clenched teeth, so hard you thought they may crack. Maybe you should mention it, say it was an accident. But your mouth didn’t open.
Because something in his expression had shifted, tight and restrained like he was holding something back by force.
His fingers curled slowly against the edge of the desk, knuckles paling before he exhaled through his nose.
“…What is that scent?” he asked, quieter now. Controlled. Too controlled. Your stomach dropped.
“I must have accidentally gotten some perfume on it.” You said it so quickly, your words began to trip on one another. “I didn’t think it would—“
“You didn’t think.” He cut in, flinching away from the blazer like it burned him to touch. The weight of the room was far too heavy, your knees threatening to buckle from beneath you.
“I’m sorry.” You rushed, taking a step toward like you were going to snatch the jacket back. “I can wash it or…”
“Stop.” You froze.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room suddenly felt too loud.
Nanami leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand slowly over his face before adjusting his glasses. His usual composure had been replaced by a man on the edge.
“Come here.” There was no warmth in his tone.
“… What?”
He curled a finger, eyes blown and unfocused. This wasn’t the same Professor who came to class every morning, this was a frazzled, distracted version of him.
Your feet moved before your brain caught up, stopping just in front of his desk. Too close. Close enough to see the faint crease between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” he murmured, so low you thought you’d misheard him.
Your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I said I was sorry—”
“That’s not why.”
You blinked.
He stood. The sudden movement made you step back, but it only brought you against the closed door behind you, hitting it with a thud. Trapped between him and the wood, your breath came shallow as he approached. Subconsciously your lips parted, gaze flickering up towards him through your lashes.
“Do you have any idea,” he said quietly, stopping just short of you, “what you’re doing?”
Your fingers curled at your sides. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You walked into my office,” he interrupted, “wearing my scent on your skin.”
Your face burned. “I’m not wearing—”
“You are,” he said, voice shaken, and somehow that was worse.
His hand lifted—hesitating for the briefest second—before brushing lightly against the sleeve of your shirt. The contact was barely there, but it sent a sharp shiver down your spine.
“Do you understand,” he continued, voice dipping, “how that looks to me? How you wearing those little shorts, biting your lip while I lecture looks to me?”
You honestly hadn’t thought he noticed your small appeals for his attention, and now that you had it you were embarrassed. He never showed any signs of paying attention to you until last week when he’d given you the blazer.
Nanami exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself again. His hand dropped from the thin fabric of your top, but he didn’t step away. This was a man at war with himself.
“This is inappropriate,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I shouldn’t,” he cut himself off, eyes closing briefly. “You need to leave.”
He wanted this. You could see that he wanted this, that the tension you felt when he paced by your desk wasn’t in your head. And if you walked away now, he’d probably never let himself be alone with you again.
“I don’t want to leave.” Your voice was firmer than it had been this whole time, decision made. “I did it on purpose. I wanted you to remember the way I smelled when you got home tonight.” The admission was dangerous, but an opportunity.
His fists clenched at his side, so tense his knuckles turned a bright white against his fair skin.
“I can’t,” He was tripping over his words, eyes darting around. “I can’t promise I will be able to control myself if you don’t get out of my office.”
You didn’t want him to control himself. You’d thought about the way he would feel inside of you countless times, daydreaming about those hands in the shower, during class.
And he could see that in your eyes, in your blown out pupils and peaked nipples.
“Fuck.” He hissed, turning away like he could pretend you weren’t wracking his thoughts.
In one quick motion he turned back around, taking your face between his hands, and smashed his lips into yours.
The kiss was rough and fast, no romance and all hunger buzzing in the way your lips moved in sync.
You placed your hands against his chest, attempting to steady yourself, so dizzy with the reality of what was happening. He was towering over you, tongue dancing against yours like a man starved. You could taste the coffee still lingering on his breath.
One of his hands trailed from your face, down your back, stopping at your ass. You gasped into his mouth as he groped it, exploring your curves like he may never get to again.
You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to be more gentle, maybe it was the control he normally carried himself with, but this was all messy passion.
“Up.” He commanded, patting the back of your thigh. You jumped, immediately wrapping yourself around his waist. He supported you with such ease.
The kiss didn’t break as he carried you over to his desk. He swiped his forearm over the surface, the papers he was grading earlier fluttering to the ground.
He smirked slightly, pleased you obeyed him so quickly. He liked someone who listened.
The desk creaked under your weight as he set you down, his body caging yours in an instant, hands braced on either side of you, lips crashing back into yours like a man possessed. His teeth grazed your lower lip, sharp and demanding, before diving back in to claim the kiss all over again.
One of his hands slid up your thigh again, slow and rough, not groping anymore but claiming. His fingertips pressed just hard enough to leave ghosts of sensation behind.
You parted your legs subconsciously, his body slotting right between your knees. He trailed higher and higher, stopping at the hem of your shorts.
Your heart hammered so loud it drowned out everything else, the clock ticking, the footsteps down the hall, the murmur of other students meeting with their professors.
But neither of you cared.
He kissed down from your mouth to jawline with open-mouthed urgency, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.
You tilted your head back, allowing him more access to mark, or claim, or bite. You didn’t care what he decided to do, you just wanted to feel good beneath him.
A shaky inhale escaped him when he realized how ready you were for this, how long both sides had been holding their breath without even knowing it until now.
The moment his lips found your weak spot, right under your ear a quiet whimper escaped you, soft and involuntary. He heard it, the sound hardening his cock.
Something primal flickered inside of him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. The professor who never broke composure was now unraveling over you.
His mouth moved lower, kissing, nipping gently at your collarbone while one hand finally slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts. His fingers immediately met your wetness that had begun to soak through the fabric of your shorts.
“Shit-“ His voice shook, taking in just how ready your body was for him. It was almost too much.
A breath caught in both your throats.
He paused, his heavy lidded eyes flickering to meet yours. He hovered over your heat for a moment, studying your face.
Your legs tightened around him slightly on instinct, a silent yes to his hesitancy, and that was all it took.
Two fingers swiftly dipped between your folds, soaking up the slick that had gathered there. He so desperately wanted to taste it, but more desperately wanted to watch you fall apart.
The two digits slipped inside, ripping a gasp from your throat that was so loud he clapped his opposing hand over your mouth with wide frantic eyes.
You’d forgotten where you were.
He allowed you to relax, to adjust to his thick fingers that were no doubt much larger than yours before dragging them in and out of you. It was irritating slow, and you ground your hips into his hand, chasing a high he wasn’t quite ready to give you.
His breath came faster now, shallow and uneven as he watched your face twist with frustration and need. The hand over your mouth softened, his thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips while the other continued its torturously slow rhythm.
God, you were tight.
Every drag of his fingers sent a pulse through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He wanted to speed up, wanted to make you cry out again beneath him, but this? This control? It was intoxicating.
He curled those two fingers just slightly inside you and when he felt how perfectly you responded, back arching and thighs trembling, a dark thrill shot through him.
That little reaction? He would devote his life to chasing it over and over again.
Without permission he added a third finger alongside them, stretching you wider as he finally increased pace. Deep thrusts now instead of teasing slides. Still not fast enough for what either of us clearly craved, but closer. Your hips jerked involuntarily each time his hand bottomed out.
The desk creaked beneath the force of your hips bucking, your body betraying how badly you needed more. The third finger burned deliciously, stretching you just right, and now with his deeper thrusts, every nerve lit up. You silently wondered what his cock would feel like inside of you.
He was mesmerized.
Watching your lashes flutter shut. Your lips part around silent moans he muffled with his palm again when one nearly escaped too loud. Seeing the flush crawl from your cheeks down to your chest, he did that and he was so proud.
He warred between wanting to kiss you again and wanting to watch you ride the climax that was steadily approaching.
The tension in his body was electric, every muscle coiled with restraint and desire. He longed to kiss you, to claim your mouth again like he had moments ago, but something deeper held him back.
He needed to see it.
Needed to watch the exact second you shattered on his fingers, the moment your breath ripped from you and your thighs trembled beyond control in pure ecstasy. It was selfish, maybe even a little cruel, but he craved it like air.
He leaned in closer, face hovering just above yours, and kept watching. His dark eyes locked onto every flicker of expression crossing your face as the rhythm of his thrusting fingers grew faster, deeper.
Your entire body was tense, muscles coiled so tight they began to ache. You could feel your orgasm growing, everything was suddenly so hot and sensitive.
“Please-“ You breathed, eyes squeezed so tight you could see stars. It was too much. You weren’t sure if you were begging him or your own body.
But it didn’t matter, because that feeling in your abdomen snapped your orgasm washing over you in an overwhelming dizzy wave.
It wracked your entire body, so much more entire than what you were use to and you felt yourself soak Nanami’s fingers as he helped you ride it out.
He cooed and shushed you, trying his best to be gentle, but seconds away from finishing in his pants.
Your gasps turned into deep huffs, your body slowly relaxing, unclenching from around his fingers. Every muscle was so heavy, you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer, slumping forward against his hardened body.
He kissed the top of your head, his own breathing unsteady and coiled, but he knew he wouldn’t take you here. You deserved something better, something proper.
He’d close his eyes and imagine your lust ridden face to finish himself off once you left.
“You should go.” He whispered into your hair, fighting the urge to carry you somewhere and clean you up himself.
But it was too dangerous.
“I know.” You agreed, your voice so small and exhausted. He littered more kisses to the top of your head as a singly apology.
“Take my coat, keep yourself covered.” Your shorts were soaked and you were thankful for the suggestion. “You can return it to me at my apartment next time.”
affirmations they will not kill me at work today. it is not in my job description to get killed. if they did kill me at work that would be weird and probably not worth it for them
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, scoffing at your choice of literature, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:
is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?
EPILOGUE - this marks the end of the librarian!nanami fic. thank you so much for keeping up and for reading. you all have the patience of saints. your love and support for this series means the world to me, and I will forever be grateful to each and every one of you for loving this version of Nanami. I love you all.
Warnings: no spoilers (contains smut, fluff, and angst) :)
Word Count: 5.3k
Canto IV - Masterlist
“Oh, Kento,” you whisper, hugging your coat tighter around yourself. “I wish you could be here.”
Leaves crunch under your boots. You bury your face a little deeper in your scarf.
Campus smells the same as you remembered it. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold air, damp bark, something faintly sweet from all the coffee shops that have popped up on and around the area.
So much is familiar, and of course it is — things don’t change that much, even if it has been years since you graduated. The same oak tree everyone used to fight over in the summer stands tall. Same hedges, same brick walls, and cobblestones. Same mascots and crests plastered on banners and plaques.
But, as you’d expected, things are different too. New faces, naturally. A wing was added to the Psychology building after the department received greater funding for their contribution to mental health research. The old noticeboards have gone digital, glowing screens cycling through events you can’t decipher. You don’t see many older professors; you wouldn’t be able to tell who’s a professor and who’s not anymore when professors and students have grown closer in age.
“Time really does fly, huh?”
In spite of any changes, however, you still feel right at home here. The steps you took from building to building are embedded in the soil. The phantom of your laughter echo in the halls, overlapping with generations before and after you. Even if you graduated a while back, you’ll always be a child of academia.
Although you’re elated to be back, you can’t help but feel melancholy.
A trip down memory lane doesn’t feel right without one of the people that took prime real estate, after all.
It just isn’t the same.
“Stop ignoring me.”
Shuddering, you sigh wistfully. “It’s like I can still hear him.”
“You can kill me in your mind all you like,” the voice begins, dryly, “it doesn’t change the fact that you know I’m right; Kindles cannot ever be superior to a good, old, physical book.”
You scowl, and turn to look back at the man trailing behind you. “They say wisdom comes with age but you’re proving them all wrong, aren’t you, babe?”
Kento’s rubbing his glasses clean from the slight fog that’s made the lenses difficult to see through. His cheeks are ever so slightly pink from the cold, and they’re the only markers that he’s bothered by the weather. Unlike you, who’s missing the warmth of Malaysia. He barely even tanned.
He reminds you, “We’re the same age, my love.”
“Yeah, well, I wear it better,” you respond haughtily.
Sliding his glasses back on, he blinks a couple times before hastening his steps to reach your side. He holds your hand in his and tucks it into his pocket, where a handwarmer lies waiting. A thumb rubs your knuckles. Kento smiles to himself. “I’m inclined to agree on that front.”
“Okay, so you can also agree with me about how Kindles are a fine alternative to physical books. I really don’t know why you look down on them so much — they’re so practical. You can have multiple books all in one place, they’re smaller and more portable than a book, they weigh much less, and you can adjust the font and page colours. They’re more accessible, Ken. You need to get with the times.”
He nods. “I see your points, and I’m not saying Kindles are to be scoffed at. I simply mean that, if given the choice and you have no accessibility needs, one ought to choose physical copies, and support the ever-dying paper industry.”
“You mean the paper industry that’s killing trees?”
Kento glances down at you. “Are you arguing that the manufacturing of Kindles has zero environmental impact?”
It’s a trap, you recognise it. He’s trying to bait you. It’s not going to work.
Squeezing his hand, you tug him to the direction you want to take him: down the scenic route as opposed to the shorter path to your destination. He doesn’t put up a fight.
Casually, you say, “No, of course not. Everything has a carbon footprint. But it’s all about minimising your impact, and decreasing the number of books, and pages, that have to be printed in favour of having them digitally available, supports that. I don’t think you can argue against the point that Kindles are more environmentally friendly than physical copies.”
“So being environmentally conscious and friendly is the goal. That’s your main point? It’s the underlying reason for any decision you make regarding what you read and in what medium you read it in?”
Without waiting for a response, Kento continues, “Would you say owning three Kindles, two more than you really need, is environmentally friendly? And if so, what would your response be to me pointing out that since you bought your first Kindle, barring the fact that you bought two more, the rate at which you purchase physical copies hasn’t decreased.”
In a flash, you yank him inside a random building. It’s in the process of renovation. The alumni newsletter said it’s going to be a ‘Wellness Centre’, whatever that means.
There’s no one here. The lights aren’t even on. Only the natural light from the gloomy sky lights the hall full of caution tapes and unemptied boxes.
You shove Kento against the wall and kiss him.
His hands fall upon your waist reflexively.
Lips move together so easily, so comfortably that you grow dizzy already. There’s nothing careful about the way he kisses you. No measured distance, no polite hesitation. Just heat, and the sharp edge of something that could be likened to deep satisfaction.
Kento exhales against you, fingers tightening at your waist to anchor himself. Your hands curl into his coat, tugging him closer and closer still, until there’s no space left between you at all.
Every breath, every shift, every small sound echoes back at you.
A thigh of his parts yours. The apex of yours meets it unhesitatingly. You’re wearing jeans, and despite the layers between you, you can feel the hardness of his muscular thigh. Your hips grind down on him with a gasp.
“Distracting me with your body?” he breathes out. “This must be an admittance of defeat.”
Your hand finds the bulge you knew would be there. When you grip him, he sucks in a sharp breath and throws his head. A light thud resounds. “You wish, Kennypie,” you whisper, rubbing his already-hard clothed cock in time with how you rub your clothed clit on his leg.
Truth is, you believe physical copies are superior to digital. Always. You were a Classical Lit student, and forever a snob, you’ll happily admit.
What you won’t ever admit is that Kento is right.
You’ll take any camp opposite his just to feel the thrill of debate.
Faster than you had snatched him to the dark, he spins the both of you around and pins you to the wall. He sucks your bottom lip, then your neck where your pulse is. Kento untangles your scarf, pulls down the zip of your coat along with his descent, and comes to kneel before you.
“No, darling,” he exhales. Your thighs squeeze together. “My wish is to taste you.”
Threading your fingers through his hair, you let him unbutton your jeans and pull them down. Goosebumps rise. He soothes warmth into your skin with his palms. With a giggle, you ask, “Again? You just ate me out this morning, Ken.”
Rare mornings where you could sleep in are usually spent with him settled between your thighs, or you between his. Why wouldn’t they be?
As he guides one foot out of the jeans, he nuzzles your thigh. The tip of his nose grazes the frilly hem of your panties. “Who said I’m limited to only once per day?”
The both of you really shouldn’t be doing this. If you get caught, you won’t be expelled; that’s not the punishment non-students face. It’s jail time. But there’s no one here, and there are no cameras. The campus is near empty because of the gloomy weather, and the way he’s started mouthing at your pussy through your panties feels too good to stop.
“Fine, but be quick, okay?” you tell him. “Our friends’ll be waiting, and after we scolded Sho for being late at the last dinner party, it’ll be a bad look if we’re late now.”
Kento hooks his finger on the gusset and pulls it aside. He makes a dreamy sigh at the sight of your puffy lips, glistening with your juices. A thumb of his parts the lips so he can see your clit and press a kiss to it.
You jolt.
“I’ll be quick,” he mutters, sounding wholly unconvincing. “She’ll get over it if we’re late just this once.”
Then, he’s licking a stripe up your slit, collecting your wetness on his tongue. “So sweet,” he says. “Always so sweet for me, for Kento, aren’t you, sweetheart?”He’s burying his face deeper between your thighs, desperate to get as close to you as possible.
You squirm against the wall, panting. “We’re not going to be late,” you insist.
The end of your scarf tickles his forehead. You move it away, wanting to have an unobstructed view of his face as his tongue flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again.
Nodding absentmindedly, he agrees, “No, we won’t be late…but it won’t be so bad if we are.”
Groaning, both in frustration and in pleasure, you repeat, “We’re not going to be late, Kento. I swear to God, you better not mess around.”
Two fingers worm their way inside your entrance, stretching the tight ring of muscle out. You feel the long digits reaching deep. They force your gummy walls to expand around them. You’re flushed, pulse racing. If anyone were to catch you now, there’d be no explaining your way out of this.
His glasses have fogged up again. It irritates him. He takes the thing off with a hasty hand and pockets it. You like him with his glasses, but you like him with his eyes drinking you up more.
Kento curls his fingers over that spot he knows well. You moan, hips stuttering onto his face. His words come out muffled when he says, “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Admit I’m right, and you’ll get your orgasm and your high horse.”
Tempting, you think.
He knows you so well.
But not well enough.
Throwing your leg over his shoulder, you fully commit to getting your orgasm one way or the other. “I would rather be late to every event we have for the rest of our lives than admit you’re right in any capacity, Kento,” you announce resolutely.
He chuckles. “Of course you would. My stubborn, stubborn girl.”
That’s the last you hear from him before he’s wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard. The pressure inside builds and builds. You can’t deny his skilled tongue and years of knowing your body in and out, perhaps even better than he knows his own.
You cum with a slap of your palm over your mouth, stifling the scream. “Fuck, Ken,” you groan.
Through it, he keeps sucking and curling his fingers. He’s elongating your pleasure, making sure you can ride your high, and his tongue, to your heart’s desire.
And just when it starts to get too much, you shove him away from your pussy. He doesn’t let you create too much distance — greedy hands grip your hips. He presses himself close, covering your body with his body heat.
Movement heavy with the remnants of your orgasm, you fight to release his cock from the tight confines of his tailored pants. It lands heavy in your palm, tip flushed and leaking. You feel the rush of his blood, the way it makes the length pulse and his veins prominent. You stroke him a couple times just to hear him murmur your name in that slutty voice of his.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasps. His hips are rutting into your hold.
“Are you gonna fuck me, Ken?” you purr. “Are you going to christen this building before it’s even been built?”
Kento nods. He kisses you, as though unable to bear being apart from you for too long. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and you don’t mind it. He pulls away enough to reply, “Yes, darling. I want to feel you, want to make you feel good.”
You kiss him again, smiling. “You always do, Kento. Go on, I permit you to put it inside.”
He lets out a low laugh. “How kind.”
Kento hikes your leg up on his hip, allowing his cock glide through your swollen, slick lips first. He coats the length with your juices. Lewd noises squelch, and upon the initial contact, you both gasp into each other’s mouths.
Soon, he can’t wait any longer, and the fat cockhead is prodding your pussy as though knocking politely. It enters you slowly. Inch by inch. Being careful of the fact that he hasn’t been able to give you as much foreplay as he would have wanted.
The stretch is so familiar, so good that your back arches off the wall. “Oh, fuck, Ken.”
“I know, my love,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
Under the layers, you sweat. You’re aware of the fibres of his sweater you borrowed brushing your skin, of the hairs sticking to the back of your neck, of how his clothes and yours makes the closeness feel dull. It’s not like being in the comforts of your own home, of being naked and in bed, and feeling skin on skin.
Restless, you whine, “Ken, put it all in.”
A kiss to your forehead and he’s doing as you asked.
The two of you moan when his pelvis meets yours. You’re flushed together, and it’s glorious. There’s a slight sting but nothing that doesn’t make your eyes roll back.
Kento croaks, “You feel so warm, so tight, so -hngh- soft. God, sweetheart, you’re perfect. So, so perfect.”
Your hips rock together. It’s not like the purposeful, drawn out lovemaking you do at home. You’re not teasing, playing games, or rutting against each other knowing there’ll be more rounds after this.
This is quick. It’s fast, it’s uninhibited, it’s animalistic. You’re merely racing towards your peaks, humping each other like dogs, and grunting and moaning like so. There’s nothing sophisticated or elegant about the slapping of skin, about the clash of lips with teeth, or of the way your fingers dig in whatever body parts you can latch onto.
“Is it nice to be back, Ken?”
Panting, he flexes his jaw as he tries to ground himself enough to think. “Y-yes, darling. It’s nice to see what’s changed and what hasn't.”
In between kisses, you respond, “Right? I mean, things have changed, but being here makes me feel like I’m a student running late for class. It’s lovely.”
He grinds his pelvis into yours, rubbing your clit till you’re almost drooling. “Yes. It is. It reminds me of the old times with you, and our -ah fuck- friends. It gets h-harder and harder to see them every year.”
“I know,” you say, hips working down on his cock. “Thank you for arranging this reunion, Ken. It’s so desperately needed after all the travelling.”
Kento cups a tit through your clothes. He kneads the fat and you jut your chest out for him. “They’d all been wanting to see you after all your success, sweetheart. It was pretty easy to organise when they want to see the award winning star in our circle.”
You grin and clench down on him. He hisses. “Oh, stop you. It’s not like you’re hiding in my shadows.”
“Someone h-has to keep these big-ego writers in place,” he responds playfully.
“My place is sitting on your face or riding your -ngh! keep going- c-cock, right, Ken?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him.
He kisses your forehead. “Whatever you say, my love.”
Something about the fact that he’s more dressed than you are has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. It’s the way he looks composed, but you know better: his cock pulses every time your walls clench down on him, and he throws his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s how you lick up the sweat beading on his neck when he does, and he grips you harder.
The rate at which he’s fucking inside you is increasing. You’re being jostled against the wall, feeling every bump and grind as if your senses are heightened. You no longer feel cold or conscious of being caught. All you can think and feel and taste and hear and see is him.
“I’m close,” you grit out. “I’m so close, Ken!”
“I’ve got you, my love,” he promises. He grabs the back of your other thigh. You’re held up in the air by his hands, boots dangling and jeans dragging on the floor. Like this, he reaches even deeper.
Your tits bounce with every rutting, and you wish he could be sucking on one. You wish you could rub yourself all over him. You wish there weren’t layers keeping you from him. That you could be as loud and wild as you want.
Combing your fingers through his hair, you yank his head back and command, “Yield, Kento. Submit to the -hah- love of your life and tell her she wins.”
His eyes narrow. “Or what?”
You grin. “Or I won’t cum.”
And he knows you mean it — you’re far too stubborn to succumb to pleasure, especially when there’s victory on the line. So he shakes out of your grip and rushes to dive his face forward. “You’re right,” he whispers to your ear, breathing warmth to the heated skin. “You’re always right. Kento’s wrong, about whatever we were arguing about this time, about everything.”
A breathless laugh carries into the humid air. “Damn right.”
One particularly perfect thrust against your g-spot has your vision spotting, your legs shaking, and toes curling. You cum with a silent moan. Kento groans into your neck, grip bruising as your clenching milks him to his own orgasm.
This will be somewhere between your sixth and eight orgasm of the day and it’s just as strong as the first.
Sex with Kento — wherever, however, whenever — is always mindblowing and mindmelting, a fact you rejoice in after concerns of age getting in the way. Of course neither of you are objectively old; your backs and joints are just fine. But you’ve been together for years now, and people often talk about how the chemistry fizzles.
Thankfully that has yet to happen.
“Oh, s-sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Mm, Ken,” you say when the pleasure begins to subside. “We didn’t wear a condom again. Now your cum’s gonna be dripping out of me and onto my panties.”
He throbs. You laugh again.
“I’ll clean you up, darling,” he replies.
Kento presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls out. The shift is abrupt enough that you both suck in a breath, the cold air rushing back in where there had only been heat a second ago. An emptiness fills you. Your cunt clenches around nothing.
You land a little unsteadily when he sets you back on your feet.
He’s about to get onto his knees. You stop him. “No, Ken, we’re going to be late.”
He looks conflicted for a second before he checks his wristwatch and reluctantly nods. “Yes, you’re right. Again.”
“Naturally.”
Like trained criminals, you quickly fix your clothes back up and get rid of any evidence. He tugs your jeans back up, giving you some time to replace your panties with a wince at the coldness. His hands zip your coat back up, then tucks your scarf inside. He fixes your hair, and you his. Kento slides his glasses back onto his nosebridge and blinks furiously to adjust his sight.
With last checks, you two give the other satisfied nods and head on out, though not without him sneaking a kiss and you smacking his ass.
“I can’t believe we’ve been on campus not even half an hour and we’ve already desecrated a building. We haven’t matured at all,” Kento mutters under his breath when you get back on the right path and near your destination.
Looping an arm through his, you reply, “I know. Isn’t it great?”
Amused, he glances down at you and holds your hand. He brings it up to his lips and presses a kiss on your knuckles. “The greatest.”
You laugh.
Then stop.
Up ahead stands a woman you could never forget. And when Kento stills too, you know he’s thinking the same thing.
Mrs. Collins doesn’t look like she’s aged a day — there’s sprinklings of colour in a head of greys, in spite of the wrinkles she bears her skin is still tight, and there’s a sharpness in her eyes that hasn’t faded away.
She’s wrapping her scarf around herself. Without needing to ask, you know where she just came from. It oddly brings you some peace to know she hasn’t left.
You don’t know if she remembers; it’s been some years and you only worked for her for a couple months. Or if she does remember, would she say anything? Would she pretend she doesn’t know you, never did anything, and you’re just another passing figure?
“Well, hello, my dears.”
So she does.
It’s impossible to tell if that brings you comfort or not.
“Hi, Mrs. Collins,” you say. Nanami cuts you a look but you give him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s been a while.”
“Has it?” she asks, not sarcastically, but rather genuinely, as though she finds it hard to keep time and it was just this morning that she stepped inside the library with the intent of setting you up, and she’d now stepped outside.
A part of you is surprised she’s talking to you, that she’s entertaining this conversation, when she could walk away and go about her day. There’s no obligation to talk to you at all. You’re no longer students, no longer employed by her, no longer young and naive.
Her eyes slide over to Kento. “Mr. Nanami, are you not going to greet me?”
You’ve never spoken to him about her since before you graduated; neither of you bring it up. And you never found that fact odd — there were almost much more interesting and pressing things to talk about.
“Good afternoon. We don’t wish to keep you. Please don’t mind us,” he replies, coldly. Well, it would seem warm enough to anyone who didn’t know him well. To you, however, you might as well be standing next to a glacier.
She hums. “Still haven’t forgiven me, I take it.”
No, Kento doesn’t seem to have; he’s as rigid as can be, as distant as possible, and paler than ever. You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t squeeze back.
It must haunt him more than it haunts you.
You don’t think about her and what happened very much, to be frank. You’re too busy to do so. It would be a lie, though, to say you don’t sporadically recall how you were used. Sometimes when you’re staring out the window and drinking coffee. Sometimes when you’re getting in a car. You’ve thought about what you would do and say if you saw her again, if she would ask for an apology, if you would cuss her out, blackmail her.
Right now, when the opportunity has risen and there’s no better time, you can’t seem to do any of that.
Because the person you see in front of you isn’t this cruel, callous monster of cosmic proportions who deserves to be dragged by the hair. She isn’t going to turn you to stone or tip your boat over. She’s not the devil, the mother of all demons, the shadow under your bed.
She’s just a woman who loves books.
And you’d do anything for the things and people you love too.
“I forgive you,” you tell her suddenly. The words leave your lips without you realising it.
Mrs. Collins purses her lips. If she’s surprised by your words, she doesn’t show it. “I never asked for forgiveness for what I did.”
“I know,” you say. “I know, and I forgive you. What you did, what happened, didn’t stunt my growth, didn’t stop me from graduating, from entering the real world with pride and confidence, and didn’t stop me and Kento from being together. What you did made me stronger. I forgive you.”
Maybe you were never even really mad at her. Maybe you’d forgiven her a long time ago, around the same time that Kento asked you to be his girlfriend and you never looked back.
The older lady processes your words for a second or two. She even looks you up and down. Then she looks at Kento, and asks, “And you?”
“I can’t.”
Does disappointment flicker in her eyes or mere acknowledgement? Does either in yours?
Whatever the case may be, that’s all there is left to be said here. At least that’s what you think until she opens her mouth again as though the act is an afterthought.
“I read your book, dear. It’s a rather popular stock in the library.”
“Thank you,” you say automatically, a reflex you’d picked up on the book tour.
“It’s not a compliment,” she replies. “It’s just a fact.”
It lands like a compliment, and you take it as such.
“I’ll be looking forward to the sequel,” she says. With a final, acknowledging nod, she turns. Mrs. Collins doesn’t strut off immediately though; she pauses and adds casually, “Best of luck, Mr. Nanami.” Then she goes and disappears around the corner, leaving behind a mist of warm air.
For a moment, the two of you just stand there under the dark clouds. As far as interactions with someone you once knew and who fucked you over goes, that wasn’t so bad, right?
You rub Kento’s arm and lean your head on his shoulder. “Are you okay, Ken?”
“I’m sorry.” You look up at him. His shoulders are still tense. His gaze fixed ahead. “I know it’s unfair to resent her, especially when you’ve graciously forgiven her and I have no right to hold any moral high ground, but I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
You figured as much — he can’t forgive himself, and so he can’t forgive her, because forgiving her means forgiving himself. It’s too soon and he’s as stubborn as you so your reassurances will only go in one ear and out the other.
“No, Ken. It’s okay. Really. Process things however you need to.”
Kento replies with some heaviness, “I’ll forever be grateful you forgave me, when you shouldn’t have.”
Sighing, you grab his face and force him to meet your eyes. “Kento, it was so long ago. You’ve apologised a millions times back then, and couldn’t even get it up for the first month or so when we started dating out of guilt, remember? I know you’re sorry, hon, and I know you’d never do anything like that again. We’re not going to spiral over something that happened eons ago.”
He leans into your touch and sighs too. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring down the mood.”
“Better now than later, at lunch,” you say, shrugging. “Remember not to let Shoko’s teasing yet the best of you, ‘kay, Kenny Benny Bear.”
At the old nickname, he grimaces but otherwise says nothing.
Looping your arm back through his and marching on, you add, “Plus, I can’t say I didn’t deserve it even just a little bit. Remember when I swapped your copy of The Iliad before the exam and your average went down by a couple points?”
Kento smiles at the memory. “You only did that because I changed the time zone on your laptop in the study room when you weren’t looking and made you late for the guest lecture with Phicshonal Lehjendaree Dyrektore.”
You throw your head back and chortle. “Oh my god, yeah! I was so mad. I’d been looking forward to that for weeks.”
“It was a good lecture too,” he notes fondly. “You really missed out.”
A smack on his chest does nothing but make him smile harder.
“Ugh, whatever, asshole,” you say though you’re smiling too. “We were both stupidly childish, weren’t we?”
“Very,” he agrees.
The two of you cuddle close together, one could say for warmth or for comfort. In spite of the weather, of the dip in the mood, you walk on feeling light. Campus is really quite beautiful in Autumn, with the vibrant reds and oranges and browns of the leaves, and the emptiness of the streets between buildings.
It’s a good day to be with friends, you think.
Soon, the library comes into view.
Whereas many buildings have had some tweaks done to them, the library remains just as you remember it. Marble pillars, tall doors, golden lettering, stone stairs, and a welcoming glow to it that you’re sure only you and other nerds can see.
You were a little surprised that the meet up point would be here, especially when Kento was in charge of making the plans, but now that you’re at the foot of the stairs, you’re glad it’s here. Now it really feels like coming home.
A ping alerts you both. Kento checks his phone, and clears his throat. He stiffens again. “We’re going to be late. Let’s head inside.”
You nod and follow him up. He grips your hand tight to make sure you don’t slip on the stairs.
The doors open with a soft push.
For a second, you don’t understand what you’re looking at.
Then— faces.
Familiar ones.
Needa and Frend, grinning too wide. Shoko beside them wriggling her brows at you as Haibara jumps excitedly behind her. Your parents, his, family and friends scattered in little clusters, all turned toward you with that same unmistakable look. Expectant. Bright. Soft in a way that makes your chest tighten before your mind can catch up.
You blink.
The library — the same one you spent years in, arguing and studying and fighting — has been transformed. The harsh overhead lights are gone, replaced by a gentler glow. Lamps lit up. The dreary, old curtains have been swapped for lush velvet. There are no students. No quiet shuffling, no turning pages, no whispered conversations.
Just melodic music.
A string quartet is tucked near the far end where the reading tables used to be. Bows glide over strings, slow and aching and beautiful threading through the air and tickling your skin, which is growing warmer from both the attention, the shock, and the protective temperature of the indoors.
There’s bouquets of flowers on mahogany tables. Petals littering the floor, thickest where you come to stand in the centre of the huddle under a chandelier of twinkling lights. Soft whites, pale pinks, a few deeper hues woven in. They curl around the ends of shelves, rest along tables, and climb just slightly where they shouldn’t.
Your heart starts to pound, hard enough that it drowns out everything for a moment.
Slowly, you turn.
Kento is there.
On one knee.
The music, the light, the people — everything fades at the edges until it’s just him, steady and sure despite the way his hands shake just slightly around the small box.
The ring catches the light.
Your breath leaves you in a quiet, startled exhale.
“I’d ask if you would do me the honour of making me the happiest man in the world,” he starts, staring only at you, “but you already have, so I suppose the better question is…”
Tears well up in your eyes and you already have the answer at the tip of your tongue pleading to be screamed.
Astronauts are so funny man. Here's just a couple of things I've found hilarious from this past week of space stuff:
It's probably already been spread around here enough already, but in case anyone's missed it; 7 hours after launch, commander Reid Wiseman, dealing with tech issues, uttered the generational quote "I have two Microsoft Outlooks and neither one of those are working."
After fixing the issues that were afflicting the onboard toilet, mission specialist Christina Koch (who has quickly become my favourite of the four) laughingly said “I’m the space plumber, I’m proud to call myself the space plumber.”
On Easter Sunday, the Artemis II crew hosted a makeshift egg hunt, by hiding packets of dehydrated scrambled eggs around their Orion capsule.
The way the crew always makes sure to make it very clear they're in space when doing interviews. From stuff like Wiseman just hanging out floating sideways on screen or Koch letting her hair loose so it can freely span out flowing around her.
While in transit, the crew decided to record a parody of those bad 80s sitcom intros where everyone turns and smiles at the camera.
When the crew reached the furthest point from Earth in the mission, they jokingly clambored over each other in an effort to get to the far side of the capsule, so that they could individually claim to be the furthest person from earth.
At the same time, on the ISS which was at the time on the other side of earth, the 7 astronauts onboard had a light-hearted race to the far side of the station, making jokes about being the furthest humans from Artemis.
On the way back to earth, NASA actually managed to establish an audio call between the crews of the ISS and Artemis II (where they shared the above info), and Koch called one member of the ISS crew, Jessica Meir, her "astro-sister" as the two of them previously spacewalker together in 2019. Meir then responded I'm so happy that we are back in space together, even if we are a few miles apart" (a few here being 230,000).
While Jeremy Hansen was doing an interview, Wiseman and Koch were just in the background swatting the mission mascot (a little moon plush toy named Rise) back and forth between each other.
cw: explicit sexual content, teasing, making a deal w nanami, masturbation, creampie, degradation, who knew you were such a cumslut. happy kinktober!
It started with a stupid argument. “You’re a sex addict,” Nanami said casually, loosening his tie after work.
Your head snapped around, affronted. “Am not.”
“You can’t go two days without whining to me to fuck you,” he countered, unimpressed.
Your mouth dropped open. “That’s—fuck you. I can go a week.”
“A week? Fine. Deal.”
“W-Wait wait really?” You hadn’t expected him to agree, damnit. “What are the terms then? You say ‘no sex’ but what does that mean? Can I walk around naked? Can I give you head?”
He leaned in, cupping your chin, thumb brushing your lip until you opened and slipped it into your mouth. You swirled your tongue over it, sucking slow, just to prove a point. “The deal,” he murmured, pulling his thumb free with a wet pop, “is nothing. No sex until Friday. And there’s no fucking way you’re lasting that long.” You glared at him before standing up and waking off to your bedroom already trying to think of ways to make him cave first.
On Monday, you decided if Nanami thought you couldn’t keep your hands off him, then fine—you’d prove that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.
He was already half-dressed for work when you padded out of the bedroom, deliberately bare, your hair still mussed from sleep. You didn’t bother covering yourself, not even when the cool morning air brushed over your nipples, making them pebble. Nanami froze with his tie draped around his neck, eyes catching on you before he immediately looked away. “Put clothes on.”
You smirked. “Why? It’s my apartment too.”
“Because I asked you to,” he said, voice tight, fingers tugging the tie into a neat knot. You crossed the room slowly, savoring the way his jaw clenched the closer you got. You bent down in front of the coffee table to grab your phone, your ass on display, back arched like a damn porn cover. “Hmm. You’re not looking at me.”
“Correct.”
“But you want to.” You straightened, letting your hands drag up your body until they cupped your breasts, giving them a teasing squeeze. “I mean, you’ve spent how many nights with your cock inside me, Kento? And suddenly I can’t even walk around naked?” His hands paused mid-button. He took a long, controlled breath, then picked up his briefcase. “This is juvenile.”
“It’s effective,” you whispered, stepping into his space before he could move away. You trailed your fingers down the crisp line of his shirt, then lower, to where his slacks stretched a little tighter over his thighs. “God, I could drop to my knees right now and swallow you before work. You’d look so hot in that tie, fucking my throat until mascara’s running down my face.”
Nanami grabbed your wrist and moved your hand off him. “Your attempts are pathetic, so stop wasting your energy.”
You pouted and snatched your hand out of his grasp, making sure to make a show of your ass as you walked away.
Tuesday night during dinner at home, you “accidentally” dropped food in his lap. He sighed, napkin in hand, but you crawled under the table before he could protest. His thighs shifted when you palmed him through his slacks, massaging slowly until you felt him harden under your touch. “Stop.” His voice was a warning tone. You kissed his cock through the fabric. He set his fork down. For a long second, you thought he’d let you. But then his large hand curled into your hair and dragged you up firmly. “You’re not going to win.”
Fuck, he was good at this.
That Wednesday you joined him mid-shower, sliding in behind him. “Room for two?”
He sighed, scrubbing his hair. “Get out.” Instead, you pressed yourself to his back, hands sliding over his chest. His cock brushed your thigh, heavy and already twitching at your touch. “I’m not touching you where it counts,” you teased, stroking everywhere but his cock. “Not against the rules.” When his hand suddenly gripped your wrist and pinned it to the tile, you squeaked, thighs clenching. “You’re making this very difficult,” Nanami ground out, water cascading down the ridges of his shoulders.
Finally, Thursday night, you were curled up beside him in bed, Nanami propped against the headboard with his book. He looked unfairly perfect—hair still damp from his shower, reading glasses perched on his nose, completely ignoring you.
So you let your hand drift under the blanket. First over your stomach, then down between your thighs. You parted them slowly, letting soft moans slip past your lips as you circled your clit with two fingers. Nanami’s head snapped toward you. The book slammed shut. “That’s not allowed.”
“This isn’t sex,” you whispered, hips rolling up into your own hand. “You said no sex. This… isn’t sex.”
“Stop.” He growled, his cock already hard under the thin fabric of his sweatpants. You smirked up at him, breathless. “You’re hard just from watching me. Who’s really losing here?” You slid your fingers lower, pressing them into your soaked entrance with a needy moan. “God, Kento… I’m so wet just thinking about you.”
He scoffed, attempting to draw his attention away from your self-pleasuring and failing. “You’re pathetic.”
“You want to see how pathetic?” you challenged, pushing two fingers inside and gasping as your back arched. The sound of his sweatpants hitting the floor made your pussy clench in anticipation. “Kento—” His cock pushed inside you before you could finish, forcing you to stretch wide around him. Your back arched, a moan tearing from your throat as he bottomed out, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your cervix. “Fuck!”
“Yeah,” Nanami snarled, hips snapping against you, “fuck is right. That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? All week—” thrust “—acting like a brat—” thrust “—making me hard every fucking day.” The sound of your moans, wet pussy squelching filled the room as he continued to pound into you.
Your moans turned into cries as his pace grew brutal, sweat dripping down his temple, his mouth at your ear. “You couldn’t even last four days, sweetheart. Pathetic.”
Your nails clawed at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he hissed. “Nanami—fuck—so good, so good—”
Nanami groaned, fucking you through it, harder, deeper, until his release spilled hot and heavy inside you. He stayed buried to the hilt, cock twitching as he filled you, your pussy milking every drop. He finally pulled back just enough to kiss your temple, voice rough. “No sex until Friday,” he repeated mockingly. “You didn’t even make it to midnight.”
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