courtneedsmatcha - Tumblr blog

courtneedsmatcha · 4 days

Text

Lovesick Puppy | FirstKiss!Satoru x Reader

Summary: Satoru never thought about kissing before, but now he can't stop thinking about how your lips would feel against his. Word count: ~2.1k

Art credit: @courtneedsleep [ me ;) ]

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” Suguru asks his best friend expectantly.

“Even if I haven’t yet, I’d still be the greatest—“

“So you haven’t,” Suguru cuts him off and waves his hand dismissively. “Well that’s good. Shoko said she hasn’t either. Yet. Aren't you curious about what it's like?"

Well, Satoru had assumed he could just "take" you whenever he wanted, for lack of better words or timing. Technically he could get away with kissing whoever he wanted (Geto included) with the privilege of those blessed genetics. Satoru had not conscientiously thought about kissing you, already acting like you were his and he was yours.

Until now.

Satoru's fingers presses against his lips wondering if yours were softer than his. What if when he kissed you, his lips were chapped which you thought were repulsive? Pshh, no, that's ridiculous- his perfect lips were never chapped? His leg bounces up and down nervously. For the first time, Satoru was floundering.

. . .

Suguru had ingrained the idea of kissing you into Satoru's brain. Something inside him was rewired, and he could not seem to control it. Perhaps he didn't want to control it. Satoru sure didn't mind the way you had permeated all of his senses when he was daydreaming about you.

The sunlight kissed his skin, but it wasn’t the type of kiss that Satoru was craving for. He blinks the drowsiness out of his eyes. In his peripheral field, he freezes at the sight of your resting form slumped over the school desk. He should check what time it is, not run his fingers through the mess of your hair spilled across the surface.

Wait. What was he doing? Why did his hands move automatically to brush irresistible, silky locks of yours?

After all, weren’t you just his classmate? His pretty and smart classmate. His classmate who’s the only one who plays along with his teasing and returns those big goofy smiles back.

Yeah, just a classmate that he wanted to kiss senseless.

Satoru couldn’t help himself. Not when you looked so ethereal, so perfect like this. Not when your oh-so-kissable lips were just slightly parted just for him. Not when he was leaning closer and closer, just for one sample of a taste, his lips hovering right over yours and-

T H W A C K

“Had a nice nap, huh? You fool, you think you’re allowed to sleep in my class?”

Fingers drumming the weapon of choice (a textbook), Yaga throws Satoru a sharp glare that breached past both of their shades. Next to him, Suguru has a coy, not-so-innocent smile on his face.

“What were you dreaming about that made you drop your infinity, Satoru?”

Even without being present, you somehow managed to break through his defenses. Satoru’s barrier was no longer effective when you unknowingly decided to invade his mind and soul. If you were going to be a problem, Satoru is going to have to fix it.

. . .

“You should’ve seen me! I hollow purpled the shit out of that curse! It kinda looked like Suguru but more hair and wrinkly, even though they’re not that much different.”

Satoru follows you around on your campus stroll like a golden retriever with a helicopter of a tail that just won’t calm down.

“Of course, you always win,” you reply with a sweet smile that he could just drink up for days.

“That’s it??” A big pout creases his mouth. “Nothing about how strong or cool I am? Or handsome?”

Your sweet smile is immediately wiped off and replaced with a deadpan expression. “You don’t need my approval, Satoru. You already know that you’re strong.”

“Yeah, but what about cool and handsome? I know it, you know it, why can’t you just say it out loud?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“My bestest friend?”

“That’s Geto.”

“Just once.”

“That’s enough.”

Satoru wanted to whine and pout, but that would be terribly uncool of him in front of you. At this point, he was almost ready to beg but he had an even better idea.

“That’s fine if you don’t want to show me your affection with words. There are other ways too, you know.” His hand grasps your wrist so you can finally turn around and look at him to give him the attention he deserves. Satoru raises your hand up and ducks his head just underneath. He hums and relishes the weight of your hand against his face. “You should be more nice. You’re the only who’s actually gentle and kind with me.”

Oh. Did he just…

…

“You’re… impossible… and cute, I guess,” you concede not as begrudgingly as you intended to be.

“Cool, not cute,” he corrects. Satoru takes initiative, moving your hand back and forth so he can feel the friction against his scalp until you finally get the hint and pat his head for him.

He’s. Too. Cute.

“This is so uncool, Satoru,” you chide.

“I told you to praise me instead.”

“No.”

“I wanted a reward.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Do you want edamame-flavored mochi?”

“No.”

“???”

“I want a kiss.”

Shit, he didn’t mean that- the words just flew out his mouth without much thought. Your hand stops moving against his fluffy hair. Satoru’s heart bashes against his rib cage. Shit, shit, shit-

You suck in a sharp breath. “Satoru, don’t be a greedy shit. Let’s go get mochi.”

. . .

Satoru is a greedy shit.

He sits on your kitchen barstool watching you microwave popcorn, elbows propped up on the counter. The pout on his face was a thousand times more pronounced with the way his cheeks were smushed together against each palm of his hands.

"Jesus, I didn't know you wanted popcorn that badly." You shake your head oblivious of Satoru's heart yearning for something more than just playful elbowing and banter. No, he didn't want popcorn; he wanted you. The only acceptable way he wants that buttery treat is if you were the one feeding it to him with your lips, mouth to mouth-

Salty and sweet explodes on his tongue as a handful of popcorn is shoved into his mouth.

"Happy now? That should get you all fixed up. You're so out of it lately."

Body moving without thinking, his mouth latches onto your fingers before you get the chance to pull them away. He laps at them like a starved dog. His mouth is so wet and warm… and wet… the hot slick coating his tongue is all you could think about. Goodness, how much was he salivating earlier, and was this all really just from popcorn?

He cleans the butter off your fingers watching the entire time the way your pupils dilated.

“Mm, tastes so good…” His tongue swirls around your index finger for one last good measure. Even after pulling back, a string of saliva connects your fingertip with his tongue. “Even better like this. Can I have another one?”

“I… need to wash my hands.”

You hurry off to the bathroom gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles were turning white.

Breathe, you try talking yourself out of this haze of lust. But as soon as you close your eyes, Satoru’s lips puckering around your fingers immediately runs its course back into your mind. The temperatures, the textures, the need are vividly hardwired into your brain. Fuck, what if it was your own tongue instead of just your fingers? Your mouth waters at the thought.

Freezing cold snaps you out of your thoughts. The icy water runs for a while until you’re sure enough you can face Satoru again without crumbling in front of him.

Knock knock knock.

Or not.

“What are you doing? I know you’re not shitting.”

“How do you know that?”

“The faucet is running, and you said you’d be right back, not back in forever.”

You open the door and are met with an impatient Satoru. Not him having separation anxiety, whining and chasing his little tail around waiting for you. How the hell is this the same man who acts so independently and wildly and so sure of himself? He could do whatever he wanted, but everytime, he chooses to put himself in a frenzy all over you.

The two of you walk back to the couch for a movie night. But when you check the bowl of popcorn, it’s already empty? What the fuck?

“Satoru?” you ask already knowing what he’s gonna say.

“Yes, princess?”

“I want popcorn.”

“Mm, is that so?”

Someone wipe that smug-ass grin off his face. “There’s no more popcorn. I wanted popcorn.”

“You have popcorn right here, baby. Tastes exactly the same.” Satoru winks and taps his bottom lip. What a tease.

“I meant actual popcorn. Something I can actually chew on.” You walk up to Satoru, plopping the bowl of popcorn crumbs onto his lap. “Go refill it.”

“Who says you can’t chew on this? I don’t mind you being rough.”

Your nails dig into your palms, anything to distract the tumbleweeds in your stomach.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart. You haven’t kissed anyone before?” Oh, of course, he already knows the answer. He just can’t help but tease you even more.

“Yes, actually,” you retort snidely. Satoru’s jaw drops prepared to accuse you for being a bit fat liar.

“Li- mmph…” But before he gets the chance to reply, you shut him up for good.

‘Rough around the edges’ was an understatement. It wasn’t smooth at all, your lips smashing against his, the inner part of your upper lip folding upwards and the bottom gnashing against his teeth. But neither of you couldn’t care less, whether it was an attempt to get a taste of that popcorn, silence that spewing mouth of his, or perhaps a mix of both. No, you shouldn’t lie to yourself. You’ve been aching to feel those plush lips of his against yours from the start.

Satoru groans. Fuck, right now he didn’t want your teeth, he wanted your lips. He pulls back just a centimeter away before realigning the two of yous’ lips properly and diving in for a proper taste. One he could savor and relish. The way you mold perfectly against him so deliciously shoots Satoru straight to heaven and back.

Your hunched form hovering over his wavered. Hands flying up to stabilize yourself, you grip his shoulders so tightly that your nails were sure to leave red marks on them. Satoru knocks the bowl off his lap, and the crumbs spill everywhere onto the floor and in between the crevices of the couch. How annoying it would be to clean up later. But it was completely worth it to pull you down and have you tucked into his lap, your thighs clenching each side of his own. He’s completely and utterly enveloped by your presence, something which he could bask forever in.

Wooziness begins to cloud your mind. A reminder that you need oxygen because you’re human. But Satoru clearly isn’t. The moment you try to pull back for a breath of air, he’s immediately chasing after you for more, more, more. His hands fly up to the back of your head and neck, lips clinging onto yours in heated desperation.

You can’t help but give in to this lovesick puppy. He’s licking, sucking, and nipping feverishly like a dog scarfing down his dinner and licking the bowl clean.

“More,” he whines and tries to kiss you again when you detach your lips with a loud pop. You turn your head away and block his lips with your hands before he devours you again. When he pries your hand off his needy mouth, you stand up and scurry away from him because you know he’ll never stop.

Satoru pouts at the loss of contact. “You didn’t like it?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.” An evil grin takes place of that bratty pout. “…I j-just need a break. Please.”

Satoru eyes you up and down carefully. The sight of your disheveled hair and the flush that spread from your cheeks down towards what’s visible of your chest did unspeakable things to him.

“Oh, that’s good to hear. Your break’s over, princess.”

“What? Wait, hold on, just a minute-“

You backpedal a few steps back thinking Satoru would follow after you. But he doesn’t, just sitting there with his legs all manspread out waiting for you to take your rightful place on his lap.

“Cursed technique lapse: Blue.”

And in a blink of an eye, you crash face-first onto his lips for round two.

439 notes · View notes

courtneedsmatcha · 5 days

Text

I am weak, Fuku. Oh so weak for your angst. I believe Nanami to have tried to convince himself that he will be okay without MC, but oh no no no. He MISCALCULATED (for once), underestimated how intense the yearning could be 😫🤌 .

You know, there’s certain people that you hold so fondly to you that no matter what, you just can’t hate them. If a fight happens between the two, it is indeed most likely that life got in the way instead of each other. And when life allows again, you would 1000% welcome them back into your arms because how could you pass such a pure and golden opportunity. Yeah, those are the feelings I got when I read this.

You’re a dangerous writer, Fuku. (That’s really hot 🥵.) I devour angst like it’s mozzarella Boscos sticks- so delicious, so good, even if I end up in the bathroom crying later LMAO. No pain no gain.

4 a.m. ☾ nanami kento

summary: nanami is your ex and calls you just before dawn to hear your voice. wc: 1.5k cw: gender neutral reader. very much angst. this takes place the night before the shibuya incident. notes etc.: song is 4 am, by taeko onuki.

lord, give me one more chance ☾ is this the last one, I wonder?

“Nanami?”

Your phone’s ringing would’ve jolted you awake from your dreams — that is, if you had been able to sleep. The life of a sorcerer was plagued by nightmares, it seemed, and you made sure to sleep as little as possible to achieve dreamless nights during most of the week.

“Yes, this is me.”

Definitely his voice, alright.

It was 4:00 AM, and you feared for a moment when his name lit up on your phone’s screen that you were receiving that dreaded witching hour phone call.

However, this was considerably more unexpected, given that he was the one to break things up with you years ago and never contact you again.

“Are you okay? Has something happened?” you tried your best to keep your voice from cracking, an awkward pit of... something gnawing at your chest.

The silence reigned solemnly for a few seconds, only muted breath coming from the other side.

“Nanami?”

“I just...”

You knew his voice. He was definitely inebriated. The way his syllables were breathier and dragged over the tone was unmistakable.

“Nanami... what is it?” your voice came labored with a sigh, part in concern, part in discomfort.

“I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry if I awoke you.”

“You know very well you haven’t,” you replied, half in jest, trying to ease the mood. It had been a minute since you two last spoke — since he had broken up with you, “but...”

Your words died on their way out.

“I... I apologize, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” Nanami said on the other end, more for his benefit than yours, seemingly coming to terms with whatever entity had taken hold of him, guiding his fingers towards his phone and dialing you up.

“It’s fine, it’s okay,” you offered, uncertain, “it’s... nice hearing your voice. It’s been a while.”

You lifted yourself from your sofa, picked up the glass of red you had resting on the coffee table, and made your way towards your apartment’s window, being met by Kyoto’s nightscape.

You heard him sigh, a sound heavier than you would have expected from Nanami, and his uneasiness was palpable, even through the phone.

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” you playfully inquired, knowing full well that if Nanami did think this through, he would've stopped himself from reaching his phone.

“I did not,” he offered in earnest, and you couldn’t help but wonder where he was right now. Was he at home? Sitting by his table still in his work attire? Laying on his bed in a t-shirt and sweatpants?

You wanted to ask, but held your tongue as quickly as the thought came.

That wasn’t how it worked for you two, not anymore.

“How have you been? Are you alright?” you genuinely asked. You truly, really wanted to know how your unwavering man — “your” solely in dreams from the past — was doing. Was he fine? Did he leave Jujutsu High again? What had he been up to?

The aching desire to peek into a life you weren’t entitled to anymore was enticing, even if a painful reminder of the door that had been permanently shut.

“Still pushing the same boulder uphill everyday,” he replied, and you heard some icy, glassy clacks on the other side, followed by a sip sound.

He was drinking. Probably a glass of whiskey with the same exact three ice cubes he always put in it.

“Is the hill getting taller and the valley deeper, too?” you asked him, a distinct smile to your voice.

He huffed, amused.

“One could say so.”

“Nanami-“

“Kento,” he cooed in the same husky, deep voice he used to caress your skin every time he whispered to you something in a crowd, leaning against you in a way only a lover would, or when he undid you just to build you up back up over and over every night you spent together.

The voice he would only use to love you.

It hurt.

“Nanami...” you repeated in the same beat, the concern and warning in your voice mingling around the uneasiness that now clenched at your chest, too.

“Just... for tonight. Please.”

He rarely asked you for anything, and whenever he did, you caved.

Just like you caved at that very instant.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

You exhaled, trying to ease the forceful flattening sensation tying around your lungs.

“Kento, why are you calling me now? I mean, we have been broken up for so long... after you broke up with me.”

Some of your last words came out with a tinge of bitterness, and even through the phone, you somehow knew he’d be looking away after you said that.

“I... I really just wanted to hear your voice. And if there is nothing to be said, I’d like to stay on the line with you for a while, even if in silence. I... I want... I want to share this quietude now with you,” he offered, an explanation of sorts, but not enough.

This was the issue — nothing was neat, calculated, mathematical enough for him. Waiting for the precise moment, life had passed you both by.

“Why? Why did you... break up with me? For real?” you asked, fully aware this might be the last time you spoke to Nanami for a long while, if ever.

He inhaled on the other side, as if picking apart his words to answer you with the perfect building blocks to fit the hole he knew he’d left behind.

“This life, our life... is not suited for romantic relationships. I couldn’t bring myself to step out the door and do what I do — what we do — knowing I could leave someone at the wake of my demise any day. In this life, we should die alone.”

You sighed and sipped on your wine, leaning against the edge of your dinner table.

“Don’t preach to the choir, Kento. I know how this gig goes, but I think you’re lying to both of us right now.”

“I... I don’t know,” he remarked. His voice sounded lost, strained, decades older than himself, and he pleaded for a light, if you could ever so kindly offer him one.

“I think...” you began, trying to be as unfiltered as possible, “you ran away from me, just as you ran away from Jujutsu High years ago. You were afraid just the same. Somehow, you surpassed the fear of dying any day on the job, but are still to surpass the fear of risking loss again, of lov-“

You bit your tongue before finishing your sentence, but he noticed it.

“Please, continue. The fear of what?”

He knew.

“Of loving.”

Nanami kept silent for a while, the only telltale sign the call hadn’t ended being the sound of his drink’s ice cubes clinking against the rim of his glass.

His voice came back, a deep, husky tone cutting through the silence like a silk thread.

“I want to see you.”

“Kento, you’re drunk.”

“Yes. And I want to see you, I have thought about it for a long time, and I believe you have too, just the same.”

He was right. Oftentimes, in the silent hours of the night, after the thud from your shoes falling in the entryway subsided leaving a void of sound behind, you missed his warmth, his arms wrapped around your waist, the feeling of his body pressing against your back. There had been others, but no one could compare to him — to Nanami.

How many others there had been for him? Had they measured up to you?

You shoved the thought away, trying to not dwell on it for too long.

“I have,” you answered honestly.

“We could try again. We could...”

“Kento...” you cooed, realizing this was the same voice you’d use whenever you purred at him when you were enveloped under the covers, sharing your own tiny private sliver of the universe.

“Please...” his tone came strained, pained in response to how you called his name — the way only his lover ever did. You.

“It’s 4:00 in the morning, we... let’s talk this over dinner. We have the time. Moving around tomorrow will be terrible because of Halloween, but we could... after tomorrow?”

You felt the faintest hint of butterflies around your chest, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not with anyone else but him.

He sighed on the other side, equal parts intrepid and relieved.

“Okay. I’ll come to Kyoto after tomorrow so that we can have this conversation properly. In person.”

You tried to exhale away your own disquiet, quivering in anticipation for seeing Nanami again after so many years.

“It’s a date, then.”

He huffed the faintest chuckle.

“It is.”

You clicked the big red button on your phone’s screen, and the call ended.

—

End notes:

You already know... Had The Big Sad™️ and decided to turn it into everybody else’s problem. This is an adaptation of a HiguNana piece I posted on AO3 (but if you want to read the fic like reader is Hiromi, I won’t try to stop you 👀).

257 notes · View notes

courtneedsmatcha · 5 days

Text

Well, this is super indulgent, and I haven't even got to the indulgent part yet. Thank you for taking the time to develop MC's current circumstances- it makes the experience all the more immersive. Out of curiosity, is your mom like that too? LOL, mums make dating pool sounds like the housing market. You gotta be aggressive and snatch them before they go off the market 💀

Also, the fish tank metaphor is perfection 👩‍🍳💋. One could say that while there's lots of fish in the sea, MC has to search in a different pond... or does she? Because with the power of writing, you literally wrote for the most holy and glorious fish to coexist in the same ecosystem as MC.

^ This is Nanami LMAOOO. Nanami can take all my bread. I'll throw it in the pond for him.

The eating dream reminds me of one of my favorite movies, Spirited Away. I won't say anything more just in case if you haven't watched the movie (no spoilers!).

Absolutely devoured this, didn't even realized when I finished my popcorn, my stomach is doing tumbleweeds because the way you have written Nanami is sooooooo fine. If my brain is its own ecosystem, your version of Nanami is the bottleneck effect. I am absolutely ruined.

Another amazing job well done. Thank you for nourishing us, Rahu. Never stop thirsting. You thirst, I thirst, we all thirst for Nanami.

Synopsis: Wendigo! inspired Reader x Nanami Kento (MDNI) (Part 1 of 2)

The empty, downtrodden drudgery of your life as a salarywoman is brought to an abrupt halt when you meet your new co-worker. The enigmatic Namami Kento ignites a hunger in you that you never dreamed possible ...

Written for the Spookinky Event hosted by the lovely @tsukimefuku !!

CW: Graphic sexual content and imagery, food play, simultaneous masturbation, body worship, oral sex (female and male receiving), unprotected sex, canon-typical violence, psychological deterioration.

Rating: M

When did your life become a series of ceaseless, hackneyed phrases, each piling on top of the next, burying you under their weight?

Your mother informs you, over your weekly supper, that a good partner won't be waiting in the wings for when you find it convenient. You'll have to go out there and 'get him'. Oddly aggressive phrasing, but you've heard it many times before. Your colleagues have stopped asking you to join them for drinks. They've all spied the growing 'to do' list pinned to the board above your desk, and they won't intervene. They recognise a lost cause when they see one.

There's no specific time frame you can pinpoint, no precise moment in the dreary, steady march of time that stands out as a clear beginning to the veil of grey that has been cast over every aspect of your life. You'd never flatter yourself enough to think that you deserved that much more.

You look average. Your career has been stuck in limbo for some time. Your fractional increase per year has gone largely unnoticed with the rate of inflation. You always go to the same grocery store after work. You cook a regular menu, one that's simple and requires little effort. Your knees have begun to hurt in the evenings and you've been finding a few more silver strands every time you give your hair a cursory brush in the smudged bathroom mirror.

The broken gutter above your balcony allows water to get into your apartment after heavy rains. You haven't called the landlord to get someone to fix it, even though it happened six months ago. You'll get round to it, one of these days.

It isn't that you don't want something better for yourself. You do. You really do. But you're just so tired all the time and the energy required to 'get things done' never seems to materialize. It's so much easier to vegetate in front of a newly released comedy show than touch up your CV, or go to the salon, or dust your shelves or go to that new home store and buy new bedsheets.

A thousand deferred dreams, and they never get any closer. Until you meet him, that is.

When he is first introduced to the team at the office, the cursory welcome sticker placed on his desk alongside some generic coffee mug gift, you don't take much notice of him. He is tall, blonde, his steady brown eyes seemingly staring past everyone he meets, a certain immovable melancholy present there.

He blends into the never-ending array of salarymen you meet daily, in the course of your job, almost as if intentionally. You see him in passing a few times, and you've actually forgotten his name a few weeks after he's become a regular fixture at the office. Such is the nature of things.

And then he is assigned to work on a project with you, and you have to sneak a glance at the name at the top of his profile sheet to save yourself the embarrassment of asking again.

Nanami Kento.

A name that suits a decisive man. You're not sure if it suits him. He seems ... lost. He is confident and earnest in his demeanor, but there is always something distant about him, as if his body and mind function on one plane, and his emotions in another. His voice is beautiful, though.

Deep, mellow, arresting and quiet, Nanami speaks and people listen. The monotonous inflection is imbued with something more, a potential for variation that you've never heard from him. He never raises his voice. He never speaks out of turn. He never uses that captivating richness of tone to draw attention to himself.

He is a man entirely self-contained. Your interest in him grows a little, after that brief time spent working together.

You've always experienced dreams of a vivid nature. When you were little, you'd woken with wet cheeks and a hoarse voice, your mother's arms around you, warm, warm, cradling you like the ocean. Even worse, you remembered your dreams, unlike many of the other children at school. All of them dreamed, and all of them forgot those dreams as soon as they'd woken up. You'd asked, and none of them recalled things quite like you did.

For a while now, the dreams had been dormant. Something in your recent life, however, had brought them back to the surface.

The first inkling you had of it was the dream of a feast. You are seated at a long table, laid with the most sumptuous food that wouldn't look out of place at a five star eatery. The table cloth is barely visible beneath the platters of stir-fried vegetables and meat, large crockpots of hearty stews, thinly sliced fish, raw and smoked, tiered rows of sandwiches, freshly fried croquettes, beautifully crafted dim sum, slices of succulent, finely marbled wagyu sizzling on stone plates.

You approach with trepidation, wondering who on earth this food had been laid out for. Surely not you? Where was the catch? Experimentally, you pick up a small croquette and nibble at it, eyes widening at the unexpected perfection of flavour and texture. This was good. Better than good, it was delectable.

You waited (only for a minute) before taking another croquette. This one went into the small bowl of dipping sauce before you took a larger bite. Still, nothing happened. Was this all ... really here for you? Just so you could ... enjoy yourself and indulge?

When you turn, a chair is placed conveniently beside you. You hadn't noticed it before. There was just a single chair, so this confirmed that it would just be you. Fingers slightly slick with oily remnants from the fried, golden morsels, you drag the chair closer and sit, still looking around warily. You still haven't found those consequences.

You eat, slowly at first. Strange. The thing that puzzled you was how you became hungrier the more you partook of. The sandwiches were soft and light, so it was no wonder you managed to finish quite a few of those. The tea was warm and superbly steeped, so you didn't find its soothing effect unusual. It was when you realized that you'd emptied out an entire pot of cream stew, wiped up the remnants with bread, and then went on to demolish five stacked baskets of steamed pork dumplings and a whole platter of mapo tofu, that you knew that there was a problem.

It was too delicious. You couldn't stop. You'd never stop. You'd continue feasting on these perfectly prepared dishes until -

The bedroom is still dark when you sit upright abruptly, your nightshirt damp with sweat, hair in disarray. Flinging aside the covers, you barely process the fact that this is the first vivid dream you've had in ten years before you shuffle to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. Your bleary eyed self stares back from the mirror, and maybe it's that morning film over the eyes that makes your reflection seem like that of a stranger.

Shortly after this, you are assigned to work on another project with Nanami. There is something different, this time, about working alongside him. You suddenly find yourself more aware of him than others around you, of the subtle way he would shuffle his papers every fifteen minutes or so, of the sound of the small cough he gave when he'd been sitting for too long directly under the air conditioning, of the set of his mouth when he saw something he didn't approve of, of the precise manner with which he set his chair before sitting down.

Naturally, you pay more attention to his appearance too. He was obviously a man who took good care of himself, but in a mechanical, rather soulless fashion. His hair was always clean and perfectly arranged, his shoes polished to high shine, suits impeccably laundered and pressed. He was always clean shaven, not a nick or cut in sight, testament to the extreme steadiness and strength of his hand.

Speaking of strength, Nanami was obviously no slouch in the fitness department. Although somewhat disguised under the square-cut, dull nature of his suits, he was broad-shouldered, the curve and dip of powerful, sinewed arms visible through his shirt in warmer weather, the natural grace of his stride a testament to his confidence in his own physicality.

But something was lacking; a certain fundamental warmth that you'd seen in others, something that placed them firmly in the world of the living. Nanami was like a ghost vessel, attention always trained on the horizon, slicing his way through the waters of daily life with unerring certainty towards a goal nobody could fathom.

(Did he?)

On the third day of working together, you ask him if he wants to try the new cafe that opened up a few blocks away from your building. He puts his pen down with that precise little motion you've come to find familiar and turns to you, giving you his full attention. He considers for a moment, before nodding and collecting his coat.

You both head out of the building into the chilly spring air, the bite of it fresh and stinging. Emerging from the office was often a surreal experience. You wonder if this is how fish feel when removed from the tank, the comfort of their sluggish, waterlogged existence snatched away to the foreigness of what lies outside, and they flounder, suffocated.

Taking a bracing breath, you glance across at Namami. He hasn't said much at all since you've both left the office.

"Do you even like sandwiches?" you query.

He nods slightly.

"Yes. I'm actually quite fond of them."

"Oh. I didn't want you to agree to come along just to be polite."

"I wouldn't have agreed for such a reason. I also felt the need to get out of the office for a bit."

You noted how that was phrased. You'd never mentioned to him that you'd felt for some fresh air.

Within ten minutes, you've arrived at the small cafe, the cosy interior lit with vintage-style lamps and the dark wood tables set with pristine white tablecloths, heavy chairs with cushioned red leather seats pulled back for you by the wait-staff.

You pause suddenly, one hand bracing on the back of the chair. A dizzying sense of déjà vu asserts itself, and you take a moment to find your bearings, your heart rate accelerating slightly.

This was all ... familiar. The table, the type of chair you'd placed your hand upon, the lamps casting their gentle glow from above. This was very similar to what you'd seen in your dream the other night, the dream of the feast.

You look up, mouth opening to formulate some excuse for your hesitation, when you see how Nanami is looking at you. Gone is the distant, detached expression, the hazy attention that passes across and then beyond you. Those eyes of his are now laser focused, the bronze and green of his irises lit from within with a sudden clarity and sharpness that momentarily takes your breath away.

He reaches slowly for your arm and a small line appears between his brows.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy spell. Recently I've ... not been sleeping well."

He nods and turns that gaze away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding. Your legs feel a little shaky, but now there is something else, something you can't quite put a finger on.

And when your food arrives, you're struck by that same sensation, and you wonder how you'd never noticed how hungry you were at the office. Shouldn't you have taken your lunch break earlier if you were this ravenous?

In spite of the sudden development of your appetite, you eat slowly and appreciatively, taking note of how your current companion relishes his own food. He is enjoying the brie and prosciutto combination, and you catch the vague scent of some kind of pickle, a vinaigrette and some garlic spread on the bread. You don't think your senses have ever been so attuned to food before.

You take the opportunity to watch him discreetly as you both eat in silence. The gleam of his wristwatch is now visible, the cold metal juxtaposed against the faint cloud of blonde hair on his wrist, a halo across his skin as the sunlight coming through the window catches it. He has firm, pale lips that soften at the corners when he savours his food and strong, blunt edged, elegant fingers, long and mobile.

You realise that your plate is now empty. He looks up at you, pausing in chewing momentarily, and you wonder if he can see the rapidly concealed hunger in your glance.

You are no idiot when it comes to matters of the heart. Or loins, as the case may be here. Nanami's demeanor screams of a man who is emotionally unavailable, and so naturally, you feel a burgeoning attraction to him. You can't place your finger on why you have fixated on him. He does his best to blend in with others, but somehow fails miserably to do so in your eyes.

He is very handsome, there is no doubt about that, but this isn't it. Not entirely. There is something about him, a certain hidden vitality that lies just beneath the surface, some secret current that runs through his veins that draws you along like a hapless fish to a lure.

When sitting beside him in the office, you are hyper aware of every move he makes, the rustle of his sleeve against the tabletop, the shift of his shirt across the firm planes of his broad chest, the slight upward nudge his long legs make under the table when he has been seated for extended periods. Sometimes, when he has been moving around a lot, he tucks his tie into his shirt pocket and rolls up his sleeves, the top of his pen tucked into the corner of his mouth when his hands are occupied. You have to remind yourself not to stare.

It is then only a matter of time before Nanami finds his way into your dreams. As vivid as they had been, none of your previous ventures into the subconscious quite compare to this one.

The table has been laid out for you once more, but with one staple addition. Nanami Kento is seated at the other end. He is attired in his pinstripe suit, a white shirt and dark tie beneath, hands folded primly on the tabletop. He appears as usual, except for the eyes. There is something there, in those gleaming depths, flecked with amber in the dim, intimate light, that ignites a terrible, terrible call in your gut.

You have never seen Nanami look at you like this before. The plethora of steaming, succulent dishes forms a bridge of earthly delights, each pearl of glistening condensation a pathway to the answering hunger in his countenance. That lambent gaze rakes over you, even as he adopts a posture of disciplined dignity, lingering on your eyes, your mouth, the base of your throat, the plunge of your neckline, the dip of your hips, all along their outer curve, until he focuses on the shifting shadows between your thighs. Something at the corners of his eyes tightens, his regard snapping up to you once more, gauging your response.

Your breathing has accelerated, your palms damp with sweat. You take a few steps forward, approaching the table. In the hazy dreamscape, there is no need for speech. It is as if your consciousness is connected to his through some form of commonality of desire.

You drag the chair out from where it stands, stepping in front of it, but you do not sit down. You reach up, now transfixed by the man across from you, like the hapless prey of a swaying cobra, and pull down the straps of your chemise, letting it fall to the gathering point of your waist. Your breasts, nipples pebbled and at attention, stand proud as you face him, watching his eyes drop down to them, something uncoiling in their depths.

He remains motionless, the picture of restraint as your fingers gather at the fine material bunched around you and slowly draw it down your hips, thighs, knees, ankles. Once it lies puddled on the floor, you step out of it and send it flying away from you with a sharp motion of your foot. All that is left is your underwear, and this receives similar treatment, tugged with gentle deliberation down to your feet and shuffled away.

You stand before him, fully nude, and note that he has not partaken of any of the food laid out in front of him. He is completely, utterly, fixated on you, knuckles now as white as the tablecloth, Adam's apple bobbing, a shimmer of moisture visible on his brow.

You smile and place one hand delicately on the table, reaching across for a tray of the richest looking sliced mangoes you've ever seen. One bite releases a flood of the sweetest juice imaginable, and you quickly reach for more, licking the fingers of your hand and your palm clean as Nanami, out of the corner of your eye, shifts around in his seat. You catch the hand that drifts upwards to loosen his tie, and you imagine the silky material sliding down, away from the firm lines of his throat and jaw.

Choosing to eat with only one hand, you pause, scanning the table. Your appetite is increasing, as always, but this time, you're more selective. There is a platter of grapes and cheese closer to your end, and you pluck a handful of the ripe, large, heavy-hanging fruit from the bunch, each the colour of a newly-formed bruise.

You place some in your mouth, slowly backing towards the chair, seating yourself in it. Raisimg your knees, you place your heels on the soft, red leather, spreading outwards until Nanami has a clear view across the table, of a different kind of feast laid out for him.

Something in his demeanor snaps, then. He utters a low, smoky groan that you can hear from where you sit, and stands abruptly, taking you in. The desire he has been subtly showing is now on full display, in the narrowing of those earnest eyes, the deepening of the shadows around them, the way his chest rises and falls beneath the thin white shirt, the jacket long discarded.

As you reach down with your free hand, sliding down, between your breasts, across the softness of your abdomen, down between your thighs, you whimper at the increasing sensitivity of your own body. Your folds, once your fingers reach them, are a slick mess, and you moan loudly, eyelids fluttering as your hips press upwards from the plushness of the leather.

Nanami utters a small grunt, and you glance over at him again from beneath your lashes. Now there is, by far, the most delicious sight at this table. His tie has been thrown across his shoulder, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, giving a tantalizing view of a firm expanse of tawny skin, the darker stands of hair forming an upward divergence between his clearly defined pectorals. Sleeves rolled up, the flex and shift of planes of muscle and tendon in his powerful forearms are visible as he slowly undoes the button and zipper of his trousers, hand sliding within to free his straining length. Soft sounds of effort escape his throat as his palm finds purchase, gripping the base of his cock, unmoving as he waits in anticipation for your next move.

The greatest delicacy, of course, was the expression he wore. Nanami was a reserved man, some unspoken barrier between himself and the rest of the world. The Nanami of your dream, however, opened himself to you, a tremor in his frame of barely reigned control , soft, panting breaths escaping slightly parted lips, the soft blonde hair in damp disarray on his brow. The severe lines of his cheek and jaw had mellowed from sheer, wanton bliss, the fierceness of his desire tracing paths of heat across your body where his gaze fell.

Holding the grapes like pearls between your teeth, you began to move your fingers, tightly controlled motions rocking you slightly back and forth as you gasp and throw back your head.

In some other place and time, you would never act this bold, this unrestrained, but this dream is yours, and you will be whoever and whatever you want to be here. Nanami's deep groans and pants, the slick sound of your fingers as they circle, stroke and tease you to each tiny peak of pleasure, combine to form a symphony that fills and stretches you breaking point.

Some shining point of equilibrium has been reached, some fine, quivering, golden thread that winds amongst the steaming feast between you both, binding your pleasure completely to his. Your hunger is being beaten back, the glorious taste of power under your tongue, dissolving like a thousand crystalline points of exquisite heat that flood your bloodstream all at once.

The heady influx of pure, undiluted beauty fills your eyes until they overflow, an outpouring of all the emptiness and desolation you've ever felt, every space left by dead dreams filled to the brim by him, him, him, and ...

A choked cry escapes you, feet giving way under the powerful spasms that jerk your body convulsively, and you force your eyes open. You have to see this, have to take it all in if you want the hunger to go away. Nanami is gripping the table, legs spread, feet planted firmly as his fist works with deliberate, measured strokes along his weeping, flushed cock. The tendons of his neck stand out, sweat trickling down his temple, the firm line of his mouth now open, harsh breaths breaking past his teeth.

Your climax strikes like an electric storm, teeth finally clamping down fully on the sweet fruit between them, their juice running dark down your chin. A muffled keening escapes your slightly open lips, one that sounds almost alien in its complete abandon. Your legs give way, feet striking the floor as your back arches right off the chair, a perfect hyperbola suspended, quivering, for a few moments.

Your cries die down to soft gasps, throat relaxing as you shakily swallow the crushed remnants of the grapes, and Nanami lets out an explosive groan, glistening, pearly fluid splattering over the tablecloth before him; an offering on the altar of your satiation.

You sit up, body taut and still tender. You want to reach for him, to trace the softened edges of those harsh lines, to possess what you know isn't yours and he -

dissipates to the sight of your bedroom ceiling, the shift of light across it from a vehicle moving past on the street outside. Your body is an inferno of heat and sweat beneath the soaked sheets, the slickness between your thighs a testament to sexual release that had been as real to you as the hunger that had now completely vanished.

You thought that you might feel shame, that your spirit would retreat into itself as it always did, once you faced him in the office again. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror wouldn't allow any of that, though. You frowned as you brushed across the healthy flush in your cheeks, the new, bright dewiness of your eyes, the vitality that seemed to infect your expressions, the mobile readiness of your mouth to curve into a rare smile.

Who was this person? What was happening to you?

It wasn't a question asked in fear. You could appreciate this new you, this appetite for more. Surely it was time? Maybe your body was simply metamorphosizing, ready to break into the mold of the new, a physical rebellion against the oppressive regime of work, home, work, sleep, work, eat that had emptied you out like a water tank in a drought.

Maybe Nanami had been the trigger. It was highly possible. You knew that your current preoccupation with him was sexual, and in a very strong sense, stronger than any you'd felt before. It had begun to startle you sometimes, when you visited the bathroom after having been seated next to him, finding that your arousal had dampened your underwear to the extent that you need to freshen up before heading back to the office.

You'd never had this kind of physical response to anyone before, and even your burgeoning sexuality as a teenager and young woman could never match the intensity of what you felt at present. And now, there was this dream to contend with.

It was as if there was a bottomless pit, extending all the way from your throat down to your loins, a single track of fathomless darkness, filled with unknown stars, that reached from the gateway of your teeth down, down, into the icy heat of infinity.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

72 notes · View notes

courtneedsmatcha · 6 days

Text

a music analysis on "if i am with you"

credits: "if i am with you" composed by yoshimasa terui, i'm citing an arrangement by _jacksonforte on musescore, @cmdrfupa and @tsukimefuku for the encouragement and motivation to write this

notice: amateur's take on music, my own interpretation because the same music can tell different stories to different people, you don't have to be an expert in music to understand, jjk season 2 spoilers, for some reason at some point, i switched to using capitalization, the researcher in me couldn't help it 💀💀

give a listen here: cover by Ru's Piano | i prefer her tempo over the original | the music is played in the gojo vs. toji scene | i reference this at 3:48 into the video in my analysis | or follow along with the sheet music here with the play button on musescore

this piece is played when gojo learns "hollow purple." when gojo learns this technique, he diverges (calculus joke heharhah) both in his strength and his perceived role in the world. gojo paves his own, indepednent path, and in my interpretation, this reflects in the elements and structure of "if i am with you." i will be exploring and sharing my take on how this piece enriches gojo's narrative.

in the opening section, we have a repetition of Fmaj7(#11) which sets a foggy atmosphere. The notes are played in a circular manner, from F up to C and back down to F. This represents a lack of direction and uncertainty. Gojo, born into the role as the strongest, does not understand why he has to use his abilities to save the "weak and helpless," why he should spare the members of the Star Plasma cult. The wandering and ambiguous repetition resonate with Gojo's ungrounded values; despite his flippant character, he follows the directionless current of what sorcerers before him did: fight to save lives until an unforeseeable end.

Sure, his title as one of "the strongest" provided some incentive to live up to those standards, but until Riko's death, he kept questioning the nature of how the jujutsu society worked. (I don't have that much evidence to cite because I haven't read the manga. This is what I picked up on from the anime.) This is until he finds a voice to guide him:

The note B serves as a pedal point, which involves sustaining or repeating a single pitch. This pedal point is a metaphor for Gojo seeking guidance from someone with a strong (aha i'm kind of wrong but you'll see) moral compass: Geto. As the harmonies beneath fluctuate from Fmaj7(#11) to em7 to dm7, representing Gojo's inconsistent or unclear stances, the pedal point represents unwavering values of Geto whose presence is steady and reliable. Gojo always looked to Geto to validate why they continued to fight. Gojo revolved around the pedal point of Geto's moral compass.

Until Geto's own compass wavers.

Here, we get a little insight into how Geto is losing his own sense of direction until it completely and gradually dissipates with a rallentando (not shown above, measure 31). However, it does not make sense to look at this from Geto's perspective. This is because Geto goes batshit defects due to hatred and spite towards the jujutsu system which would be poorly represented by a soft, gentle ending in Cmaj7.

Instead, I interpret this as Gojo relinquishing Geto's pedal point. This does not mean that Gojo has completely given up the ideology of Geto's inital beliefs. Rather, it is about transformation, a step towards independence. Gojo is giving up Geto as a moral compass, for he does not need to continue to seek guidance from his friend. To pinpoint the precise moment, it is when Gojo says the infamous "throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one."

*Please refer to 3:48 in this video which is what I am describing

Keyword: alone. Gojo is ALONE the honored one. The perceived responsibilities of the honored one fall only onto Gojo, forcing him to further differentiate himself from the rest of the sorcerers, Geto included. This is represented through hollow purple, the epitome of strength and the embodiment of mastery at an unreachable level for the rest. Gojo's acquisition of hollow purple is the mark of how from then on, he will develop his own narrative, and that is what the music exactly does at a tempo.

Let's take a moment to appreciate how perfectly the music aligns with the animation. Because y e s. Anyways, a tempo marks the transition into the second section of an exploration of Gojo's independence. It truly is an exploration, signified by the sequences of call and response. The phrase above at a tempo is a call. The following is the response:

This sequence repeats once more, but in a different variation as it modulates from C major to F major. It's almost as if Gojo is searching for reassurance or validation as the strongest, but has no other choice but to trust his decisions and live with no regrets, thus leaning further into the role of the strongest.

For more information on Gojo Satoru's role as the strongest, please refer to @rahuratna's brilliant insights on him:

https://www.tumblr.com/rahuratna/757727672585617408/hi-rahu-my-nanami-loving-schmutt-reading?source=share

We then have a "flashback" (technically called A' section), or briefly relapse back to the theme of the pedal point:

The brevity of this section is reminiscent of Gojo noticing Geto's decline in mental and physical health, but ultimately choosing to overlook in the pursuit of strength and ambition. The desire to prevent what happened to Riko by refining his powers overwhelms any other sense or priority.

By overwhelm, I mean insanity. Just look at the fortissimo (meaning extra loud) and the nine-lets in the left hand. I n s a n i t y. I don't have many other things to say except how fitting it is for Gojo to be high with power at this exact moment and how the intense the rays of golden sunset are. Isn't it interesting how intensity can be layered through multiple media (i.e. background art, animation, voice acting, music, storytelling)?

To conclude, I want to talk about the way this piece ends. It's one of the most beautiful and melancholic endings I have ever heard. Starting at "Slower":

The note C as a pedal point. Suguru Geto, is that you???? See, he will always be with Satoru forever. Even when he may not always be physically present with Satoru, he will forever be that little voice that reminds him of all the memories, the beginnings, the end of beginnings

That G# is killing me. Just kidding

It's the damn B. Yeah, I'm gonna yap about one note. ONE NOTE. How dare you... LEAVE THIS ON A LEADING TONE!!!!! THE UNRESOLVED TENSION!!!!! THE ANGST!!!!!!! AND YOU DRAW IT OUT LONGER WITH A FERMATA (Do it again.)

Obviously I'm going to make a meaning out of it. Unresolved tension is the entire premise of Jujutsu Kaisen.

Example 1: Gojo's desire to rebuild the jujutsu society with powerful sorcerers who work together and foster a caring community to look after each other... to what extent did he accomplish this goal? And that's why I like leading tones, because it can set up a resolution that might be explored further, perhaps with the next generation of sorcerers.

An even better example 2: leading tones perfectly capture the dynamic of satoru and suguru. So close yet so far apart. So angsty yum. Never truly finished.

Additional analysis for the cover art: https://www.tumblr.com/rahuratna/757898687766757376/hi-rahuuuuu-my-mind-is-fresh-and-awake-its-one?source=share

Perhaps next time, I will yap about "Vague Reason" next?

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen meta #jjk meta #music analysis #jjk analysis #jjk art #jjk music #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #geto suguru #jjk geto #satosugu

16 notes · View notes

courtneedsmatcha · 6 days

Text

Nanami is truly worth the investment. To not hire him is to miss out on an influx of returning customers who are there to drink up Nanami's looks. The way you wrote Nanami... he's so calm, cool, collected, elegant, poised, professional. (I'd like to order one Na-- um, I meant a French 75 will do, I guess...) Of course, with his analytical eye for his client, he knows exactly what MC's tastes are (him) the second time around. I love how you take the time to detail the Smoky Margarita as perfectly suits MC's upfront character.

This leads me to my second point. MC. I will literally get on my knees for her, she STOLE my breath away, I want to be her so bad. Her spicy flair infiltrating its way into my system through my bloodstream, making my heart pump faster than Mignon's and rewiring something in my brain that literally changed me. Oh, to be able to flirt as well as her...

The flirting, the tension... it's causing my body temperature to spike and I lose all sense of time as how the hell did I read 2500+ words in 10 minutes? Was it even 10 minutes?? (That's what I mean, I literally forget what the hell I was even doing beforehand because your writing has a vice grip on me.) Thank you, thank you, t h a n k y o u for your soaked-Nanami shirt services. I was that one dude. The "inattentive" passerby who "accidentally" made a mess out of Nanami. The "holy shit" was indeed out of surprise... a surprise of Nanami's cleavage and the way his shirt clings onto those set of...

Sir, I'll volunteer to be your napkin. Sorry not sorry *evil Voldemort giggling cackling.*

Nanami serves to please. I rate his services 5 Michelin stars. Lu, excellent excellent job. Thank you for fulfilling my fantasies in a 730000%-more-than-satisfactory way.

Tend to me

Barkeep!Nanami x Salarywomxn!Reader

“That's what I do. I drink and I know things.”

a/n did this come from talking in a server about how post college Nanami needs a job and simping over how hot he’d be with his sleeves rolled up? You bet your ass it did. Thank you Court and Nana for your beautiful brains 🩵💜

MDNI +19

Five rejection emails, no callbacks, and his interview today turned into a scene from a novela after the receptionist barged into the boss's office, exclaiming that she was pregnant. All in the span of one week.

Kento pressed his forehead to the linoleum. table as he groaned.

“Don't give up! It's like, 10,000 other bank jobs! You'll get one.” Haibara squeezed Kento’s shoulder as he watched his form slump into itself.

"Yu, it seems like I’ve been turned down for 10,000 jobs. At this rate, I’ll have better luck getting a job as a cab driver.”

“But you don't have a car—”

“Shhhhhh.” Kento turned his head to the side, still keeping it on the table and looking at Yu.

He knew Yu was trying to help, but it’d be more helpful if he didn't speak.

"Look, Ken. If nothing else comes up, I can talk to my boss to get you hired.” Yu stuffed the last of his tuna onigiri in his mouth, smiling as he attempted to cheer his roommate up. “You won't have my role as a trainer, but you could be one of the guys who clean off the sweaty machines! Pays pretty decent.”

Clearing his throat, Kento sat up, eyes still closed before he spoke up.

“Yu.”

“Yeah?” His big brown eyes were only filled with genuine care; Kento looked over at him and sighed.

“Thank you. I'll let you know if I need you to do that.

Yu gave a toothy grin as he gave Kento a swift pat on the back. “It's all gonna be okay! Just breathe.”

Kento stood with a wry smile. “Thanks. I'm gonna go for a walk. Clear my mind a bit. See you tonight.”

The stroll served its purpose. It reminded Kento he wasn't a poor interviewer, nor did he lack the gusto. The job market was over-saturated and relied heavily on personal connections; Kento did not know a soul in the finance world.

He stopped; a ‘Now hiring, Inquire within’ sign on a heavily tinted window caught his eye while Gojo watched him from the other end of the FaceTime call.

“Where does that leave you now?”

“Well, I’ll get some experience in the meantime, become a math teacher or tutor while I look for something more sustainable.”

"You? A teacher? Nanamin, don’t make me laugh.” Gojo propped his phone up, “You’ll have the students' brains bleeding out if you do that. Think of the children, Ken-doll.”

Kento rolled his eyes and watched Gojo clean his desk. Literary motifs littered the wall behind Gojo. A large poster of Yevgeny Zamyatin hung in the center. “Math isn't supposed to be fun anyway. It's not teaching Dr. Seuss. It teaches objective truths and concepts.”

Gojo feigned a yawn. “Wherever there is objective truth, there is satire.”

“That’s not how Wyndham Lewis meant it.”

“You don't know that! He's dead. It's all about interpretation.”

“I’m hanging up now. Gojo. Goodbye.”

Gojo smiled. “I can pull some strings and see if Yaga has a spot in the math department.” he nabbed his phone, seemingly prepping to leave his classroom.

“And remember dinner this weekend! See you Nanamin!” he blew a kiss into the phone pushing Kento to immediately hang up.

Kento looked back at the building. The 3-story building had hints of older Japanese architecture with European accents.

"The Zenith" was carved into a wooden pillar adjacent to the entry, with a simple design.

“I can just see what they're hiring for. No harm in that.”

The bar inside was the epitome of luxury and sophistication, designed to impress the city’s most discerning clientele. In the hotel's heart, Kento felt out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed breathtaking views of the Tokyo skyline. He waited for the hiring manager to end her dumbfounded stare.

“So no previous barkeeping history, no customer service work, and no idea how to run a till.” The dark-haired woman named Utahime looked up at Kento. “What qualifications do you have?”

Smoothing his hair back to think of what he could say to seem qualified, he looked around the room. Older individuals who appear established. Business-minded.

An older woman, in a meeting, smiling at the blonde-haired man. An older man was on a call. His younger companion crossed her legs and batted her lashes as Kento scanned.

"I could boost revenue and upsell your best bottles to those who don't care about the price."

“Mr. Nanami. How could you do that? Most of our clientele just order one drink and maybe a listening ear.”

There were a lot of things Kento lacked but looks were never one of them. The gift of having the perfect genetics made academics a breeze. But, it was now time to use his good looks and gift of gab, inherited from his grandfather.

“I learn quick. Hire me today and I’ll have every stool filled and the register overfilled in 7 days. I guarantee.”

Polished, calm, and precise. Nanami excelled behind the bar, his steady hands mixing drinks for the city’s elite. With his sleeves rolled, he perfected the craft of keeping up with mundane conversations mid-shake. His bulging veins, as he held the shaker, made every woman calculate their tip before he served their martinis. Muscles flexed when he noticed some of the older men who could care less about the young women in cocktail dresses attempting to be mysterious and wanted to know if the blonde keep could do more than be heavy-handed on the gin.

He was the bar's eye candy, something they should've thought about hiring months ago.

It's a world where he realized he can control every variable, crafting experiences one cocktail at a time.

After his first week, they offered him a permanent position. Working midday during the week to keep businessmen and women pleased and one Saturday evening shift a month to keep the younger crowd in.

The low hum of conversation and soft jazz music filled the dimly lit bar as Kento worked behind the sleek marble counter, expertly mixing another round of drinks for the evening's guests. He wore his usual stoic expression, with the usual white button-down shirt and well-fitting slacks to match.

He placed a completed cocktail on the bar top, and wiped his hands while checking what needed to be refilled. “Utahime? Could I get some more ice and a few more lowball glasses, please?” he spoke into the earpiece he donned on his left ear. “They seem to be disappearing, and Choso isn't back from his break."

"Yeah. Give me 20. I'm running tables for catering. I'll send it by Takuma.”

“Thanks.”

He wiped down the bar top; a figure slid onto one of the high-backed leather stools in his peripheral with an aura that turned heads without needing to demand attention.

“What can I get started for you this afternoon?”

“I’ll have a French 75, please. Thank you.” Smooth and assured, your voice rang like a hymnal in his ears.

Kento gave you a nod, his ability to indulge in small talk temporarily taken from him by your presence. He set to work, measuring gin and fresh lemon juice with his usual care, topped with a flourish of champagne. The drink landed before you in a delicate, chilled glass.

You took a sip, eyes never leaving his. Your nude-colored lips curved into a small but telling smile. "Not bad... but not quite perfect either."

Kento raised an eyebrow, subtly intrigued but keeping his expression neutral. “I take it you have high standards.”

You chuckled, low and sultry. “I’m a person who knows what she wants, and I don’t settle for anything less.”

Nanami leaned in slightly, his tone dry yet teasing. “Perfection is subjective. Some people might call that 'almost' drinkable."

"Almost isn't in my vocabulary," you replied, eyes gleaming with challenge. You pursed your lips. “Not in business, not in life... and definitely not in drinks.”

He smirked, just enough for you to notice. “I’ll keep that in mind for your next order.”

You swirled the drink in your glass, the fizz of champagne catching the low light as you appraised him. “A man who can admit he’s not perfect? You must have been raised well. Refreshing.”

Nanami met your gaze, unruffled by your attempt to throw him off his game. “I prefer precision over perfection. Perfection tends to make people complacent.”

Your eyes narrowed but with a hint of amusement. “Interesting perspective, coming from someone who works behind a bar.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Someone has to remind people that the best things in life have room for improvement. Even when they think they’ve already got it all.”

Tilting your head, glancing at the way the simple silver chain rested against his collar. You were impressed but clearly enjoying the game. “You might be onto something. What’s your name?”

“Nanami Kento,” he said simply, as he wiped down the bar.

“Well, Nanami,” your voice is softer but no less commanding, "next time, why don’t you make me a drink that I can’t critique?”

He gave you a rare, almost imperceptible smile. “Challenge accepted.”

Your eyes lingered on each other, the tension electric. You raised your glass, with a smile so poised and self-assured, before taking another sip.

"Looking forward to it," you murmured, low and teasing. Then, you stood and left a 50-dollar tip with your card. You walked away, your perfume lingering in the air.

Kento read your name on the card. His curiosity ran wild with every possible scenario as he watched your backend disappear into the lobby

A few days later, the bar's golden lights glowed softly. They reflected off the dark marble counter as Nanami wiped down glasses. His thoughts drifted to the usual routine. He’d swapped shifts, which resulted in watching the evening crowd trickle in, primarily corporate types and high-society guests, and Nanami managed the situation with his typical efficiency and calm demeanor.

But as he adjusted a bottle of whiskey on the back shelf, a familiar presence caught his eye.

You were back.

You entered with the same quiet confidence, this time fitted with a far more casual, sleek outfit paired with heels that clacked against the polished floor.

Moving with ease, you slipped into the same seat as last time, your gaze meeting his immediately. Your lips curled into a slow smile, almost as if you knew he’d be expecting you.

“Good evening," Kento greeted, his voice calm with a slight edge of anticipation.

"Nanami," you replied, leaning forward. Your self-assured energy was hard to ignore. “It's a pleasure to see you tonight. I think I’m in the mood for something a bit more... complex.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone dry but with an undertone of curiosity. “What are we talking about? A Negroni? Maybe a Vieux Carré?”

You smiled a glint of challenge in your eye. “Surprise me.”

Kento studied you for a moment, then nodded and began his work.

His movements were precise but fluid as he grabbed a bottle of mezcal and began crafting a Smoky Margarita, layering complex flavors—mezcal for smokiness, lime for sharpness, and a touch of agave to round it out, all topped off with a rim of chili salt. The drink was bold and nuanced, like the woman before him.

He placed the glass in front of you with hushed confidence, waiting for your reaction.

With a slow sip, your lips brushed against the glass as your tongue sampled the salted rim. Eyes closed momentarily to savor the taste.

When you opened them, your gaze locked onto his.

“Now this,” you leaned forward, "is much better.”

Kento leaned on the counter slightly, his smirk more visible this time. “Glad to hear it. Looks like I’m learning.”

“Seems like you’re a quick study.”

You held each other’s gaze, the air between thick with tension that had only grown since your last encounter. Your voice dropped to an intimate murmur, barely audible over the ambient music. “So, Nanami... what do you do when you’re not making perfect drinks?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused by the shift in your tone. “I don’t get much free time. I like structure with very little change. But I do have a break coming up.”

Your smile widened, and there was a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Is that so? And what do you usually do on these breaks?”

Kento straightened, glancing around the bar. The crowd was calm tonight, his usuals with a small group of beer drinkers. He certainly wasn’t going to be missed if he disappeared a little earlier than usual. “Not very much. But there’s a private spot upstairs. Quiet.”

“Lead the way.”

Kento signaled for one of the other bartenders, wordlessly handing off duties as he made his way around the bar and approached you. You stood and walked alongside him through the bar.

Turning the corner without paying attention, an inattentive passerby bumped into Kento, a glass of what he could guess was whiskey now soaking the front of his shirt. “Holy shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You pressed your lips together, smiling as Kento didn’t let the incident interrupt your determined ascent up the stairs.

You didn’t speak as you made your way to a barrier, secluded alcove on the mezzanine floor—a quiet corner with a view of the city through tall windows, framed by rich drapes. The world outside was glittering and alive, but here, away from prying eyes, it felt like their own little escape.

Kento stopped near the window, turning to face you as the ambient glow of the city lights bathed them both in soft light. You stepped closer, the subtle scent of your perfume mixing with the full scent of whiskey that stuck to him. He unbuttoned his shirt, uncovering his lean torso and square pecs.

“You have a talent for choosing the right spot.” You said, your voice lower now.

“I don’t waste time.” He replied, his eyes locked on yours.

You smirked, stepping even closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. “Efficient. I like that.”

Kento’s pulse quickened though his exterior remained composed. The heat of your presence never wavering as he watched your every move.

You lightly brushed his arm, a deliberate move to see his reaction.

“I knew you’d be interesting,” you uttered, your voice soft, teasing, but laced with something deeper. “I just didn’t know how interesting.”

Kento’s lips quirked into a small smile, one that carried more weight than any words he could say at that moment. “You’re not so predictable yourself.”

Your eyes locked. The city lights flickered around you, but neither of you noticed, too caught up in the magnetic pull of something new, something charged.

You reached up, your hand brushing his collarbone. You licked his whiskey-flavored chest. You languidly licked up to his neck as he sucked in a sharp breath. "Hmm." You whispered while your lips hovered close to his. “I like a man who can keep up."

Nanami’s voice was steady, but there was a rough edge to it now. “I don’t plan on slowing down.”

With a final, knowing smile, he closed the gap between you. His lips brushed yours in a kiss more electric than the city lights below.

“Nanami Kento.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“When you clock out, my room happens to be on the floor above this one.” You slid your room card into his pants pocket as his hand slid down, pressing you into him.

Kento pushed you to the wall with a quick yet gentle motion, nudging his knee between your thighs. "You've surprised me."

“How so?" The sudden closeness brought a surge of anticipation bursting in your chest.

"I didn't take you for someone who would enjoy a bit of public play."

You rubbed your wetness on his knee, lost in thought. A simpering moan escaped you. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nanami."

Amused by your attempt to keep it together, he moved his knee forward to elicit another moan from you. "The dampness of my slacks says otherwise." He drowned out the sounds of the late-night rush with the pants he pulled from you.

"Tell me how to please you with precision and I'll follow every direction."

Thank you @/saradika-graphics for the dividers ✨

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x reader #jjk smut #fine-dining michelin star writing #if he's take out i'll take him out #if he's bread i'll be his butter #i'll be the three to his seven #i'll tip you $73 for your services sir #love u lu

96 notes · View notes