#Kento Nanami | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tojisglazer · 2 days ago

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🌟Random JJK Men Headcanons!🌟

Creds to @cafekitsune for all dividers!!

NSFW CONTENT UP AHEAD!!

Includes: Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Shiu Kong (Maybe more characters in the future! Recommend some n’ they might be up here next!…just no minors pls unless it’s for fluff 😭😭)

Not rlly proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes!!!

Kento Nanami

• Would definitely be a whiner, especially when it’s time to get up in the morning, “Mmm..darlinggg…”, his grip on your waist becoming tighter. “Just five more minutes.. pretty please…?”, how could you possibly deny your sweet husband?

• Kento will always help you with your hair if needed and is always good at it (You don’t know this, but every night while your sleeping, he watches YouTube videos on how to style curly hair in cute styles he knows you’d like).

• Rarely ever cries to you since he doesn’t want you stressing out over him. When he did cry, however, you’d be sure to have him lay on your lap and softly coo at him until he falls asleep.

• Will be the cook of the house. Sure, he’d let you cook a few meals from time to time, but he would prefer cooking for you instead of vice versa. (His food ALWAYS ended up delicious)

“Kento let me cook for tonight please! You cook all the timeee!” You whine as you’re being dragged back to the living room by your husband.

“Please, my love, sit down. I want you to relax this evening.” Kento kisses you on your forehead as he sits you down on the couch. “Dinner will be ready in a few, okay?”

“Tomorrow night Kento, I will be cooking.” You say with a pout on your face, and Kento can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

• When one of your favorite songs of all time play on the car radio, you’d scream the lyrics, eventually luring Kento in to sing with you. He probably wouldn’t know half of the songs you listen to, but he’ll still sing with you if it makes you happy.

• Never calls you by your name unless something serious is going on. Will always call you baby, sweetheart, darling, love, or honey. (Ex. “Love, if you don’t mind, could you get me a sandwich from that bakery I always go to?” “Honey, you’re always so good to me, I love you so much.”)

• Speaking of which, he loves it when you call him sweetie, Ken, or even if you refer to him as “your man”. He gets hard just thinking about it.

• He’s definitely a little pervert. Whenever you’re out the house for a lengthened period of time, he’d use the opportunity to steal multiple pairs a pair of your used underwear and jack off to it in your shared bedroom, making sure to leave his cum right in the center of your panties. Little did he know, however, the cameras in your house caught every second of it.

• Kento would absolutely love to be dominated by you. Just the thought of you riding him and fucking him with your strap until there’s tears rolling down his face just does something to him.

• He’ll beg and whimper to you at any point during sex, the way he looks so pathetic as soon as you have him in your grasp is something indescribable and makes you want more. “Mmh—babyyyy—haah—oh goddd—I’m gonna cumm-”

“L-Love please—please let me—”

“Ooohhhh—can’t hold it b-back, d-darling-“

• We all know this man is an absolute king when it comes to aftercare. Giving you a minute to rest, he goes to your kitchen and brews up some chamomile tea. Afterwards, he runs a warm bath with some rose petals which he knows you like.

Toji Fushiguro

• Isn’t very good at communication due to being raised in nothing but an abusive household. Knowing this, you help him every step of the way, and he can’t help but look at you with hearts in his eyes.

•He’ll hit you with a dad joke at the most random and unexpected times. You could both be showering together and he’d be talking about some, “What do you call two ducks and a cow? Quackers and milk.” They’ll always make you laugh, though.

• Expect Toji to tease you 24/7. For example, if you’re wearing a bonnet, best believe he’s snatching it off as soon as you walk past him, laughing and holding it over his head as you’re trying to take it back.

-SWOOP- All you feel now is a breeze on the top of your head instead of your trusty bonnet. “Toji I swear to God if you don’t stop snatching my bonnet there’s gonna be problems.” You turn to face the man who now has your leopard print bonnet in his big hand.

“Oh please girl,” you hated the way he mirrored your sass. (You didn’t) “Y’r not gonna do a thing to me.” He chuckled, now putting your bonnet on his head.

“Tojiiiii you’re gonna stretch it outtt!” You groaned and hit his chest, yet Toji doesn’t pay you any mind.

“Babyyyyy,” He mimics you, “I’ll give it back under one condition.”

You sigh, knowing the exact condition.

“Jus’ gimmie a kiss, and the bonnet is all yours.”

• His usual go-to of pet names would include: Doll, babe, baby, ma, brat, and princess (Ex. “Babe, you wanna come to this new restaurant with me? Heard they had some good steak.” “Quit bein’ such a little brat.” “Y’look so damn pretty, doll.”).

• Toji brags to his best friend Shiu all about you, much to his annoyance. He boasts about how pretty you are, how smart you are, how big your ass is, and how lucky he is to have you.

• He absolutely loves the way you treat his five year old son, Megumi. You treat the boy as if he’s your own, and Toji can’t help but smile until his cheeks are sore, and even then he wouldn’t stop smiling.

• This man cannot cook for shit. The only cooking he’s doing would be making toast with butter or ordering takeout.

• He’d definitely eat you out of a house and home and take a fat nap afterwards, though. His portions of food would be enough to feed three people. Living with him, you’d have to go food shopping every two days.

• Though he’d never admit it, Toji loves hugs and how you smother him will all kinds of affection. He’d act all annoyed and tough and claim he doesn’t like it, but deep down you both know he eats it up every single time.

•Expect to see dirty gym socks and other clothing attire scattered across your shared bedroom. You’ll tell him to stop acting like a pig and clean up after himself, but it’ll go in one ear and straight out the other.

• Toji has such a praise kink. Whenever the words “good boy” or any other compliment leaves your pretty lips, it’s like he can’t think for himself anymore.

• He loves, loves, loves, having sex in missionary position with you. He loves being so close to you, being able to smell your special scent, and whisper in your ears, “Look how—fuck—look how messy this pretty pussy is for me, ma.”

“Y’r taking my cock so fucking well, baby.”

“Love ya so fucking much, y’know that? Hah—shit—Yeah, y’know that.” while he’s absolutely demolishing your insides. Don’t get him wrong, the man loves tons of sex positions, but missionary will always be his first pick.

• He may not look the part, but Toji whimpers and moans like crazy when he’s about to cum. “Hnghh—ooohhhh—fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—“

• When he cums, expect a bunch of it. It’s so much that it leaks out of your throbbing cunt and onto the light pink bed sheets, leaving a puddle.

• His kind of aftercare would be licking your clit, ridding it of any leftover cum. Afterwards, he’d give you a water bottle and massage any aching body parts. He’d then order some of your favorite take out and you’d both eat it together while watching some corny dad show he found on tv.

Shiu Kong

• You have this man wrapped around your pretty finger. He’ll spoil you rotten. He couldn’t possibly think of saying no to his princess, especially when he has the money to get you whatever you want.

• You will never find yourself in a position where you need to lift a finger whenever he’s around. You’ll get nothing but royalty treatment.

• Shiu absolutely hates it whenever you’re around Toji. He knows Toji wouldn’t do anything, but seeing you even look at him gets on his nerves.

• You wake up to the smell of some freshly cooked bacon and eggs (or whatever else you’d favor) due to him. His day will literally be ruined if he isn’t able to cook for you.

• Whenever you want your hair and nails done, Shiu will give you the money, plus a little extra so you can get yourself something nice.

• Your car will definitely end up smelling like his cigarettes mixed with his signature cologne after a while.

• You practically beg him to teach you a few words in Korean (mostly curse words) since you claims he sounds so sexy speaking it.

“Come onnnnnn,” you whine, following Shiu around the house as he carries the clean laundry in a basket. “Just one word, please?”

“I’ve already said a word, princess, don’t you remember that?” He stops in his tracks and turns to face you.

“Okay—well—one more!” you pout and cross your arms.

“Don’t do that,” Shiu chuckles, then sighs contently. “How could I ever say no to you, beautiful?” Your eyes light up and a big smile is displayed on your face.

“사랑해요, 예쁜.” He whispers in your ear and leaves a kiss on your cheek.

“What’s that mean??”

“It means I love you, pretty.” He cups your face with two hands. You can’t help but giggle and leave a kiss on his lips.

• Like Kento, Shiu wouldn’t call you by your name at all. He hasn’t called you by your name ever since you two first met. Sometimes you wonder if he even knows your name (he does). The names he calls you are: Doll face, love, princess, pretty, beautiful, bunny (Ex. “Did y’want this necklace, princess?” “Let’s go out to eat, doll face.” “You can take it, bunny, can’t you? Yes you can.”).

• Every morning, his head is found in between your legs, licking and sucking at your clit. Every time you try to push his head away due to overstimulation, he says “Come on, pretty, m’just eating some breakfast, gimmie a minute.”

• This man is extremely weak for head. His breathy moans only get louder as he’s getting closer and closer to his climax. “Ohh f-fuck—my love—s-s’close—”

“Y’r sucking s’good pretty—mmh—so fucking good-”

• He’ll immediately return the favor by stuffing your sobbing pussy with his fat cock, thrusting in an unforgiving pace. “H-Hah—you h-hear that? Y’hear how she’s—shit—purring for me l-love?”

“I know you can take it bunny, I know you can—ooohhh ffffuckkkk-”

• After he’s done with you, he kisses your forehead and wipes you down with a warm damp towel. He then massages your plump thighs and kisses your face a bit more. When you’re finally asleep, he goes out to your balcony for a quick smoke.

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Betrayal Polyamory Gone Wrong: Toxic Relationships Emotional Abuse Pregnancy Body Horror Gaslighting Infidelity Isolation Unhealthy Relationships. Previous Chapter 1: Home Is Just a Place You Leave (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 2: Collateral Void

The night air felt cool, brushing softly against your skin as you sat at the dining table, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The faint glow of the screen illuminated your focused expression, but the peace was short-lived.

“Boring! Though what kind of work is it? Can I help?” Gojo drawled dramatically, suddenly appearing behind you. Before you could react, his long fingers darted over the keyboard. “What’s this? Spreadsheets? Bleh. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

“Satoru!” You shrieked, smacking his hands away as he howled with laughter, stumbling back like a kid who’d just set off fireworks in a schoolyard. “This is quarterly projections; it’s a highly important document people worked hard on!”

“Oh, come on, you’re working too hard,” he teased, leaning down with his hands on the back of your chair. “Work-life balance, baby. You need more Gojo in your life.”

“I need less Gojo in my life,” you muttered, shoving him off.

The bedroom door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls. Nanami stormed in like a man possessed, holding up a fractured piece of pottery that looked both ancient and priceless. You recognized it immediately—the Kintsugi Haniwa, a beautifully restored clay figure you’d given him years ago, a piece Nanami revered as a testament to tradition and resilience.

“Satoru!” Nanami said through gritted teeth, his voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Care to explain why I found this”—he held the artifact higher for emphasis—“chucked under the bedside table?”

Gojo froze mid-smirk, his expression slipping for the first time. “Oh. That—that’s weird. Who would—?”

“You broke it and hid it there!” Nanami growled, keeping the artifact aside, the accusation dripping with certainty.

“Hid is such a strong word,” Gojo replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I simply relocated it.”

“To the floor?” Nanami darted towards Gojo, voice raising with each word, veins practically bulging at his temple.

Gojo sidestepped next to you, standing you up and using you as a human shield. “Look, Nanamin, accidents happen! Why don’t we focus on forgiveness instead of anger?”

The three of you were circling the dining table like children playing a game of tag—except one of those children was trying to commit murder. Gojo kept darting behind you for cover, his grin only widening as Nanami’s rage escalated.

Nanami’s glare sharpened, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm monotone. “First, it was the trimmers. Now this.”

Gojo perked up, suddenly smug. “How do you even know it was me? Maybe she used your trimmer.” He pointed a long, accusatory finger at you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Are you serious?!”

Nanami didn’t even glance your way; his focus stayed zeroed in on Gojo. “Because you are the only one with grandma hair.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like Nanami had physically stabbed him. “Grandma hair?!”

“It’s white, isn’t it?” Nanami said flatly, unbothered, still trying to grab him.

“Excuse you,” Gojo sputtered, sidestepping Nanami and pointing wildly at his own head. “This is platinum perfection. It’s fashion-forward. It’s—it’s a statement.”

“It’s hereditary decay,” Nanami shot back, not giving up the chase.

You snorted, unable to hold back the laughter as Gojo gaped at both of you in utter betrayal, holding you close to his chest by your waist, trying to block Nanami. “You’re both ganging up on me. This is domestic abuse!”

Nanami’s scowl deepened. “Don't change the topic, Satoru!”

Gojo shrugged innocently. “Hey, at least I cleaned it.”

Nanami’s nostrils flared. “Cleaned it?”

Gojo’s grin turned nervous as he added, “Well, you look mad, so I guess not entirely...”

Nanami lunged forward. “You left all your hair on it! What do you even use my trimmers to trim, because you sure as hell can’t grow facial hair, you manchild!”

“You know what I shave!” Gojo called back, then squealed in delight and bolted, dragging you along.

You froze mid-breath, horror washing over you as the implication hit. “Gojo, do you have a death wish?!”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eye practically twitching with it as his seething glare intensified. “You shaved your fucking balls with my facial trimmers?!!” He spoke low, advancing like a storm cloud as Gojo circled the table, “Then had the audacity to leave it dirty with your… your gross hair for me to find! Like you are a cat offering me dead animal!?!!”

Gojo darted as Nanami chased him with murder in his eyes. The three of you continued circling the dining table in a chaotic frenzy, Gojo skidding across the floor in his socks, cackling like a lunatic.

“We have exchanged so many bodily fluids, and this is where you draw the line?” Gojo mocked, ducking under Nanami’s arm.

“Disgusting!” Nanami barked, seething as he pointed an accusing finger at Gojo. “I swear to God, Satoru, you are the bane of my existence!”

“But you love me,” Gojo teased, skidding to a stop so suddenly that you stumbled into Nanami. Nanami caught you easily, steadying you with one hand, but nearly crashed into Gojo, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Apologize!” You shouted, stepping between them before Nanami could strangle him.

Gojo huffed dramatically, tossing his head to the side like a diva. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, Nanamin. Truce?”

Nanami grumbled under his breath, clearly unsatisfied. But before he could say anything else, Gojo grabbed his face, leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth.

Nanami’s entire body froze, his eyes going wide.

“There,” Gojo said smugly, pulling back with a grin. “Divorce dodged! Yay!”

You stared at them, caught between amusement and disbelief. It felt perfect—so perfect you almost wanted to cry. The laughter, the banter, the way they made you feel seen and cared for. You soaked in the moment, memorizing every detail—Gojo’s messy white hair, Nanami’s steadying touch, the golden light filtering through the lamps, casting everything in a soft, warm glow.

“Go ahead, ignore me,” you said jokingly, crossing your arms. “I’m clearly the third wheel here.”

Except they did.

The lights flickered.

Your smile faltered as you blinked, realizing they weren’t paying attention to you anymore. Gojo had grabbed Nanami again, pulling him closer. Their voices dropped into hushed murmurs, unintelligible and distant. You opened your mouth to say something, but they didn’t respond. They were kissing again. Fully.

And they were across the table now, far away—too far.

“Guys?” you said, laughing nervously. But the sound was thin, swallowed by the sudden heaviness in the room.

Gojo’s face blurred at the edges, his features smeared like wet paint dragged by careless fingers. Nanami’s figure was rigid, his face unreadable as shadows pooled at his feet, darker than they should have been. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive—pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake.

“Hello?” You tried again, louder this time. Your voice cracked slightly.

Nothing.

They didn’t turn toward you, didn’t even flinch. They were consumed with each other, as though you weren’t even there. The shadows stretched further now, creeping into the corners of the room like black ink spilling across the floor.

“Stop it,” you said, your tone sharper, though a pit began to form in your stomach. Their forms were blurring further, warping. The golden light dimmed, turning sickly and cold. The dining room, once warm and filled with laughter, twisted into something unfamiliar—something wrong.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us,” Nanami said, suddenly turning to you. His voice was hollow, devoid of the calm warmth it usually carried. The words sent a chill crawling up your spine.

“What?” Your gaze darted between them, your chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you with unnatural speed, his blindfold gone. His six eyes glowed horribly bright, the light of them reflecting like mirrors in the dark. His smile was gone, replaced by something jagged and cruel, something inhuman.

“You didn’t think we’d find out?” he said softly. There was no teasing in his tone, no charm—just an edge of menace. “About them?”

“Them?” you echoed, the word barely escaping your lips. Nanami stepped closer now, his movements slow, deliberate. His face was shrouded in shadow, his features obscured like they were melting into the dark.

“The twins,” Gojo said, the word cutting through the room like a blade.

Your breath hitched as Nanami advanced, the shadows around him crawling along the floor, reaching for you like grasping hands.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you whispered, instinctively wrapping your arms around your stomach. Your pulse roared in your ears as the room tilted, the walls pressing inward, suffocating you.

“We have to take them,” Nanami said, still moving towards you, his voice distorted, as though it came from deep underwater.

Gojo smiled again, moving towards you, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, the corners of his mouth stretching just a little too far. “We can’t let them live. You know that, sweetheart.”

“No! They’re mine,” you choked out, stumbling backward, your arms tightening protectively around yourself. The table between you seemed to shrink, leaving you exposed as they advanced.

“You can’t keep them from us,” they said in unison, softly, the words curling through the air like smoke.

“Stop!” you screamed, but their forms warped, dark shapes spilling into the edges of your vision. The shadows surged forward, hands reaching—

You jolted awake in the chair with a sharp gasp, your body trembling violently as you shot upright. The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of a screen. Your breathing came in ragged bursts, your pulse thundering as you clutched your stomach, feeling the reassuring movements beneath your palms.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

The laptop sat open in front of you, the spreadsheet forgotten, the cursor blinking insistently in the silence. The apartment was quiet, but the echoes of their voices lingered, a whisper in the back of your mind—a threat you couldn’t shake.

The shadows felt darker now.

“They’re mine,” you whispered shakily, curling in on yourself. “They’re mine.”

Weeks had passed.

You had buried yourself in a new country with the same job because you couldn’t abandon the business you had painstakingly built alone, with your blood, sweat, and tears. It was all you had left of yourself—the last thing tethering you to who you used to be. You ensured no one could access your personal information, locking it away like a fortress. Still, you felt like a ghost, drifting through a life where no one knew your name, where no one could see the haunting memories that followed you.

Your days were a blur of meetings, phone calls, and paperwork. You let go of every luxury, stripped yourself down to the bare essentials—as if even the smallest indulgence might give them a clue, might allow them to trace you. Not that they would. Your days were spent in a tiny apartment that didn’t even feel like a home. The walls were too close, the air too still, and the silence stretched on like a second skin. It wasn’t a home. It was a box—cold, cramped, and indifferent—where you ate alone, worked alone, and slept in fits and starts, the hours fractured by dreams you couldn’t escape.

The nights were the hardest.

Alone in a foreign city, you lay twisted with pain, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t know were possible. Your skin felt stretched too thin, muscles aching like they were being pulled apart, reshaped against your will. The babies—their babies, no! your babies—grew inside you, alien things that contorted you from the inside out. Every sharp twinge of pain felt unnatural, every shift of movement a cruel reminder of what they had left behind. You couldn’t help but wonder if your body might rip open entirely, split down the seams. The changes weren’t normal. Your bones creaked and groaned under the weight of something you couldn’t understand, your body remaking itself to accommodate children who were never supposed to be here.

You worked through it. You worked through everything. The nausea that made your hands tremble. The exhaustion that dragged your eyelids shut. The cold sweat that drenched your skin as the babies pushed against you, growing and moving with a purpose that felt wrong. It was all wrong. But still, you sat hunched over documents and contracts, your vision blurring until your eyes burned, pushing through the pain until the lines of text no longer made sense. Anything to keep the memories at bay.

But they crept in anyway.

Gojo’s laughter. That unmistakable, infectious sound that could fill a room with light. It used to be enough to pull you out of your darkest thoughts, but now it echoed like a cruel reminder of what was lost. Nanami’s quiet, steady presence haunted you too—those rare moments when his stoic mask cracked, when the tenderness beneath the weight of his quiet sorrow slipped through. The fleeting seconds when everything had felt right, when you believed you were loved, when the world seemed like it could wait just a little longer.

Those moments were gone, but they still haunted you. They slipped through the cracks when you least expected it, invading the silence, invading the cold. The life you had left behind wouldn’t let you forget.

You had traded one form of isolation for another.

But at least this one was on your terms. At least now, you were alone because you chose to be. You weren’t the woman who had thrown everything away for them, not anymore. That woman was gone.

Your old phone, now completely untraceable, stayed on out of morbid curiosity. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you were gone. If they ever would. Maybe they were happy you were out of the picture. Maybe your absence was a relief. You kept a new phone for work, clean and also untraceable, and refused to check their social media. You couldn’t bear to.

Back in Japan

It started with the ring.

The bedroom door slammed open just as the first pale rays of dawn broke across the sky. Gojo stumbled inside first, his uniform coat discarded in the living room next to Nanami’s coat, tie, and their shoes. His pale blue shirt completely untucked and unbuttoned, almost sliding off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest down to his navel. Nanami stumbled after him, his arm wrapped around Gojo’s waist from behind to steady him, his teeth leaving faint, red marks against the back of Gojo’s shoulder blade. Both of them swayed like ships lost at sea, unmoored and directionless. The unmistakable scent of alcohol clung to them—whiskey, gin and tequila, sharp and sour in the still air.

Gojo turned and pressed Nanami against the wall within seconds, his long fingers tangling into Nanami’s hair, lips dragging lazily along his jawline. Nanami’s face was flushed, and he was uncharacteristically pliant, unresisting. His hands drifted to Gojo’s hips, sliding lower, grounding himself through touch.

“Satoru,” Nanami muttered, his voice breathless, strained—a fleeting attempt at lucidity. “Do you know where she is?”

Gojo didn’t pause, his grin sharp against Nanami’s skin as he murmured, biting softly, “‘She’? Who’s she?”

Nanami’s hands tensed at his sides. “Our wife.” His voice broke slightly on the word. “You haven’t seen her?”

Gojo finally pulled back, crystalline eyes hazy and lidded, his blindfold dangling from Nanami’s wrist again like some forgotten relic. “Of course not. I thought you knew where she went.” His smirk faltered only slightly before he dragged and pushed Nanami backward toward the bed. “Don’t ruin the moment. She’s probably on a trip—working hard, being the boss lady we love.”

Nanami let himself fall onto the mattress with a bounce as Gojo straddled him, hands already wandering over his waist. Gojo pressed and rubbed their bulges together, punching a groan out of Nanami, who breathlessly stuttered as he tried to speak again, but Gojo kissed him roughly, stealing his words. It was messy, desperate—a distraction from something neither of them wanted to name. Still, the nagging thought clawed at Nanami’s mind, like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

“She didn’t tell me,” he muttered, barely audible between gasps, his hands trying to still Gojo’s ass. “Where she was going.”

Gojo paused for half a second, then scoffed, rolling his hips once more as though to smother the thought. “You think she tells me everything? Haha, funny. She always tells you, though.” His words slurred slightly, dismissive.

“That’s not true.” Nanami said while the table beside them jolted as Gojo pushed Nanami further into the mattress, the sharp clink of metal against marble cutting through the room like gunshot.

Making Nanami still instantly.

“What was that?” His voice was low, tight. The haze of lust and alcohol shattered like glass.

Gojo blinked, lifting his head lazily. “Probably your sanity leaving the room,” he muttered.

Nanami ignored him, leaning to the side and shoving the bedside table back with his foot, earning a low scraping sound as it moved. Gojo groaned, trying to tug him back down as he continued assaulting Nanami’s neck and now his shoulders, which peeked through his half-unbuttoned and completely untucked shirt with bites, but Nanami’s focus was elsewhere. He leaned down further, and the room fell silent to him.

There, half-hidden in the dust and shadows, lay a small, glinting band of gold.

Nanami’s fingers shook as he picked it up. The ring cold against his skin, familiar and damning all at once. He stared at it like it might burn him.

It was her ring.

“Satoru,” Nanami said quietly, grabbing Gojo’s jaw with one hand—who had been too busy biting his shoulder to notice—and turned him to face it. His voice was fraying at the edges as he held up the ring, its gleam sharp in the weak dawn light. “What’s this doing here?”

Gojo stared at it for too long. The color drained from his face, the drunken nonchalance slipping further with every second. “She probably took it off,” he said finally, though his voice cracked. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “You know she gets eczema sometimes… itchy hands, right?”

The words hung in the air, hollow and pitiful. Gojo didn’t believe them any more than Nanami did.

Nanami shook his head slowly, his grip on the ring tightening as his knuckles turned white. “She always wears it when she’s on work trips,” he said, his voice hoarse, brittle. “She says it keeps creeps away.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just stared, his wide eyes fixed on the small, damning band of gold as though it held all the answers to everything. Nanami didn’t wait for him. He shoved Gojo off and bolted from the room, his bare feet thudding against the floor as he grabbed his phone from his coat in the living room.

“Nanami, wait—” Gojo stumbled after him, still dazed, but Nanami was already swiping through his phone, his thumb moving in quick, frantic motions.

His heart sank.

Her last message to him—the last sign of her—was over six weeks ago.

Six weeks.

Six weeks, and he hadn’t noticed?

Gojo could have been an idiot, but he wasn’t, or so he had always thought.

The color drained from Gojo’s face as he stared at the screen while the realization spread through Nanami’s heart like poison. Without a word, Nanami reached over, his hand dipping into Gojo’s pants' front pocket to pull out his phone. Gojo let him, watching as Nanami unlocked it and scrolled through the messages.

The screen glowed with the same message. The same day. The last day they had heard from her. The day in the drawing room she had begged them to tell her if they loved her.

A chill settled into the room, sinking deep into their bones, heavy and unshakable. Nanami’s hand dropped to his side; the ring, along with the phones, slipped from his fingers and landed with a dull thud on the floor. The silence that followed was choking. Nanami turned to Gojo, his face blank, but his eyes were wide, wild with a horror he couldn’t contain.

Gojo stood frozen, his earlier bravado gone. He looked smaller somehow, his face pale and slack as the weight of what they’d done—what they’d lost—sank in.

“She’s gone,” Nanami whispered, the words barely audible, like a confession he couldn’t bear to say any louder.

“She’s not gone!” Gojo shot back immediately. He laughed—a hollow, desperate sound—as if the act of saying it would make it true. “As I said earlier, she’s probably just... just out. On a work trip. She’ll be back. She always comes back...”

But his voice trembled at the edges, and they both knew the truth now. The ring on the floor gleamed coldly, like evidence of everything they had destroyed—everything they couldn’t take back. Like a final goodbye neither of them had ever thought of.

The same night, after too many sleeping pills in your new home on the other side of the world, your vision blurred and your body felt like it was splitting apart; you opened your old phone to look at old pictures. After a few hours it buzzed, and against your better judgment, you looked.

Toru (DNR): “Where are you?”

The message sat there, glaring. Your heart dropped. Another followed seconds later.

Ken (DNR): “We messed up. We apologize. Please. Just tell us you’re okay.”

You threw the phone, your vision swimming in tears, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. After more than six weeks of you leaving, more than six weeks of silence, after everything they had done, now they noticed? Now they cared?

It was too late. You had built walls around yourself now, high and impenetrable. The same walls you’d erected when you had realized, too late, that you weren’t loved—not the way you had been promised. They weren’t even the people you thought they were.

The city’s lights blinked outside your window, distant and indifferent, like the glow of a world that had moved on without you. Somewhere out there, they were searching for you, but you didn’t care anymore. You had traded the ghost of their love for the numbness of being alone in this foreign place.

Back in Japan

More days passed.

Their apartment remained frozen, a mausoleum of the life you had left behind. Your old laptop still sat neatly on your desk, untouched and gathering dust. The faint imprint of your body lingered on the couch cushions, as if you might walk in at any moment and collapse there, laughing about how long the work trip had been. But you never would. Not anymore.

Gojo filled the silence with noise. The television blared cartoons he wasn’t watching. Music thumped from his phone, but the songs ended too quickly, leaving the hollow quiet to seep back in like poison. He laughed too loud, talked too fast, his words tumbling out like he could outrun the ache blooming in his chest.

“She’s fine,” he’d say to no one. To Nanami. To himself. “She’s just being dramatic. She’ll come back when she’s ready, when her work is over. She always comes back...”

But at night, when Nanami wasn’t around, when the weight of it all pressed against him like an iron hand, Gojo sat in the dark, the only light spilling in through the half-open blinds. He would pull your favorite blanket off the back of the couch, holding it tightly to his chest. It used to smell like you—that soft, warm scent that made him feel like everything would be okay. It never actually did. He’d bury his face in the fabric anyway, clutching it so tightly his fingers ached, as if he could squeeze the memory of you out of it.

“Stupid blanket,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to keep her here.”

The quiet answered him. It always did.

Nanami, on the other hand, threw himself into work. The apartment had become unbearable, the sight of your clothes hanging in the closet like a ghost driving him out into the cold. He buried himself in files, meetings and missions, anything to drown out the sound of your absence echoing through his skull. But no matter how hard he tried, you found him anyway.

It was in the middle of a crowded street crossing that he saw you. For a fleeting second, he froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat. A woman parked a convertible just ahead, her hair falling in the same way yours used to, her jacket a perfect match to the one you bought last winter. He pushed forward, shoving past commuters, his heart pounding like it might tear itself free from his chest.

“Honey,” he breathed when he reached her, only to stop dead when she turned. A stranger’s face stared back at him, startled and confused.

Nanami’s apology was soft, choked. He turned away quickly, gripping the strap of his grocery bag so tightly his knuckles blanched. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall.

Later, he found himself in your office, the door locked behind him, the room suffocatingly still. The desk was untouched, a fountain pen left on your favorite notebook where you had last placed it, its tip dried out. An old grocery list lay discarded by the mechanical keyboard. Nanami picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing over your handwriting, the curve of each letter searing into his mind.

Vitamins. Sticky Notes. Under-eye serum.

The list was mundane, ordinary, but his hands trembled as he held it. He could almost hear you muttering to yourself as you wrote it, pursing your lip in concentration. His vision blurred, and he sank into your desk chair, his free hand moving to his tie, removing it, then wrapping it around his knuckles, gripping it tightly. The silk bit into his fingers as he pulled, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The silence, the unbearable ache in his ribs—he tried to choke it all down, twisting the tie as though it could hold him together.

But it couldn’t.

He’d often do this now, lock himself in your home office, gripping his tie until his knuckles turned white, as if that could choke the guilt down.

Gojo found him there hours later, the list still crumpled in his hand, his head bowed as though in prayer. Neither of them spoke. Gojo didn’t laugh this time, didn’t tease. He just stood in the doorway, silent and pale, his eyes fixed on the man who had always been stronger than this—who now looked just as broken as Gojo felt.

One night, Nanami arrived home to find Gojo sitting on the floor, facing the wall, staring blankly ahead as though he could see through it. The light from the dim lamp cast faint shadows across his face, carving hollows beneath his eyes, which looked emptier than Nanami had ever seen them.

The silence in the room wrapping itself around Nanami’s throat as he shrugged off his coat. Gojo didn’t move, didn’t even blink, his hands limp in his lap, fingers twitching faintly as though they were searching for something to hold on to. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, hollow—a broken whisper that felt like it had been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.

“I… I shouldn’t have isolated her that day.” He didn’t look at Nanami, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “When… I didn’t think about what it would do to her.”

Nanami froze mid-step, eyes sharp as they fell on Gojo. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the city outside. Nanami’s expression hardened, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet, cold, cutting.

“You think I don’t know that?” His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I know, Gojo. I know exactly what we did to her. How we fucked up. How we forgot about her.”

The words hit Gojo, but he didn’t react. He just let them hang there, sinking into his chest like stones. His lips twitched, a ghost of a self-loathing smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Forgot about her…” he repeated softly.

Nanami didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, too raw to voice. He watched Gojo slump further, his knees drawing up slightly as though he were folding in on himself.

A few nights later, Gojo was sprawled on the couch with a drink in hand, the liquor doing little to numb the ache in his chest. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts racing, spiraling downward into a dark abyss.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips, but they landed heavily in the room, a painful truth.

Nanami didn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of their shared failure.

The memory of you haunted every inch of their apartment. Gojo saw you in the pillow he clutched to his chest at night, pretending it still carried your scent. Nanami heard you in the faint creak of the floorboards as he walked past your office, his hands brushing the edge of the desk you used to sit at. They never said your name. It hurt too much.

“We thought we were protecting her,” Nanami said, voice a quiet rasp as he stared at the empty wall Gojo had been fixated on.

Gojo’s lips twitched faintly, a bitter mockery of a smile. “We thought wrong.”

Neither of them slept at nights. Gojo lay on his side, staring at the window with red-rimmed eyes, while Nanami lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wearing your ring on one finger—he kept rolling it with his thumb absentmindedly. The silence between them was absolute, filled with everything they had left unsaid.

It was the silence you had lived in for far too long.

They called. They texted. They waited. The apartment stayed quiet. Your things stayed untouched. And the void you left behind grew deeper with every passing day.

Five months into your pregnancy, you lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, your body slick with sweat, fingers clawing at the cold tiles for stability. You’d slipped and fallen, your phone nowhere in sight, the apartment eerily quiet except for the harshness of your breath.You didn’t know how long you’d been there—minutes, hours, days—time had lost all meaning. Your stomach roiled violently, muscles clenched in spasms so sharp they stole the air from your lungs. It felt as though your insides were being shredded, your bones splintering and grinding, like they were trying to rearrange themselves to accommodate the impossible.

A guttural gasp tore from your throat as another wave of pain ripped through you. You pressed a trembling palm to your abdomen, feeling the unnatural shift beneath your skin. The twins moved—twisted and writhed in a way no baby should, their forceful movements pressing outward like they were fighting to escape or fighting for space, too strong, too demanding. Your skin stretched tight, painfully taut, burning with the strain of holding them in. It felt like something alive and wrong, something too strong for your fragile human body.

The veins beneath your skin bulged out, an intricate web of blue and purple crisscrossing your stomach like angry rivers about to burst. Your abdomen swelled grotesquely, the skin shiny and thin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought it might tear open entirely. The bones in your hips creaked audibly under the weight, the sound a grotesque whisper that echoed through the silent bathroom. Your spine screamed with every slight shift, vertebrae grinding against each other as though your body was folding into itself, trying to protect you from the inevitable.

Tears slid down your cheeks, hot and bitter, though you barely registered them. It wasn’t just the pain—God, the pain—but the isolation that cut the deepest. You had never felt so utterly alone, so abandoned. Not just by the city you didn’t belong to, but by them. By the men who were supposed to love you. Who should have been here. Your breaths came in short, harsh bursts, the sound bouncing off the tiles, sharp and hollow.

“We don’t need them,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you pressed harder against your stomach, trying to soothe the frantic movements. Your words cracked, brittle and weak. “We don’t.”

But your heart betrayed you, aching in your chest like a wound torn open anew. You could still see them if you closed your eyes—Gojo’s infectious grin, his arms around you as though he could hold the whole world together. Nanami’s steady, grounding presence, his quiet strength that had once made you feel safe. Loved. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they weren’t here, that they had left you alone to bear this. To bear them. Yet, in the silence of that bathroom, the darkness swallowing you whole, you realized you were lying to yourself. You missed them. You missed them so much it hurt.

You blamed it on your hormones, soothing your stomach. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen in a way that could have hurt the babies. Just then, the twins moved again, a violent lurch that left you gasping, your body arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain seared through you. The sharp pressure pushed against your ribs, a sensation like tiny hands and feet pressing outward, testing the limits of your body. Your skin rippled faintly, the bulge of their movements visible beneath the surface.

You shuddered, your tears mixing with sweat as they dripped down onto the tile. What are you? You wanted to scream, but the words wouldn’t come. The horror of it—the body horror of carrying something so unnatural, so wrong—settled like a stone in your chest. You weren’t sure you could take it anymore.

“Mama will take care of you both,” you whispered shakily, trying to soothe yourself as much as them. Your hand rubbed slow, shaky circles over your stomach. It was the only comfort you had left—this fragile, strange connection. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And like always, the sensation of their movements softened at the sound of your voice. The pressure beneath your skin eased slightly, the frantic shifting slowing into restless, jerking flutters. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough space to breathe, to push down the rising panic, to push forward. Your muscles trembled as you moved, dragging yourself toward the bathtub, one hand bracing against the toilet seat for balance. Your body protested, hips throbbing, spine sparking with pain, but you kept going.

“Just a little bit more movement,” you murmured to the twins, coaxing them as though they could hear you. “And Mama will be vertical again. Then we can have some dark chocolate… you know, the one you’ve been craving? The only one both Dadas used to love. We’ll watch…”

The words cut off abruptly as your foot slipped on the damp tile. You gasped, arms flailing, but your body betrayed you. The porcelain edge slamming into your head with a horrible thud.

For a moment, everything was soundless.

A hollow ringing filled your ears, the bathroom blurring around you as your vision dimmed at the edges. The pain in your skull throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed your palms to your forehead, curling around yourself, trying to shield the twins from the impact.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice a cracked whisper.

The darkness pulled at you, threatening to drag you under, but you fought it, laying back down to press your forehead to the cold tile. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, your pulse hammering in your ears as you held onto the only thought that mattered.

They are okay.

Your hand pressed against your belly again, searching for the faint, familiar movements beneath your skin. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, you felt it—a small, restless flutter. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and silent, as you curled against the floor, the relief making your limbs weak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered brokenly, as much to yourself as to them. “It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s okay. You will be okay.”

But even as you said it, the weight of everything—the pain, the isolation, the unnatural horror of what was happening to your body—threatened to swallow you whole.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A voice came from nowhere. Deep, rough, like it belonged to someone who had been waiting for this moment.

You froze, immediately clutching your stomach as the babies shifted again, their movements sharp and jarring. Had they found you already? How could they have known? How could anyone have known? You looked around, panic seizing your chest. The pain from your fall still burned, but the thought of someone being so close made your stomach churn. You clutched your belly tighter, trying to protect them, protect yourself.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. Do you need me to call an ambulance?” The voice was insistent, but there was something else there, a knowing edge to it that sent a chill crawling down your spine.

You noticed that the voice was coming from the wall next to the tub.

“Who’s it?” You managed to ask, gathering what little courage you had left, trying to steady your shaking voice.

“Your neighbor,” the man’s voice said, his tone low, almost a growl. “I’ve seen you around. I think you’re pregnant, right? With twins?”

You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. How could he possibly know that? Your heart skipped a beat. How much did he know?

“How’d you know it’s twins?” you asked, your voice tight, filled with suspicion. This man seemed too aware, too knowledgeable.

“I’m a sorcerer too, like the men’s children you carry,” the man continued, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate in your bones. “Just the one who deserted the hopeless crusade. And well, my technique allows me to sense things like this, but you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t partake in that world anymore. Haven’t in a really long time.”

His words sank in slowly, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him. His explanation was coherent, his tone calm, almost reassuring. You were too exhausted, too delirious with pain to think clearly. It made sense in your sleep-deprived and pain-addled state.

“I... I can’t go to the hospital,” you whispered, your throat raw. “Could you just help me up?”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. “I’ll help you,” the man said, his voice now excited, or maybe happy, like he was suddenly hyperactive. “But I’ll have to break the door down to get in. I’ll fix it after, with a stronger lock.”

“Sure, no issues.” Beggars couldn’t be choosers. You didn’t have the strength to protest. You were already lost in the fog of exhaustion, pain, and confusion. He was here. He would help you.

Soon the sound of splintering wood echoed through your apartment, followed by the dull thud of heavy footsteps. Each step reverberated like a low drumbeat, slow and deliberate, growing closer until they stopped just outside the bathroom door. The handle turned once, then creaked open with an eerie calm. You felt a chill run through you, something more than the cold air from the cracked window. It wasn’t just the wind that made your skin crawl. There was something wrong about this man, something dangerous. But in your haze, you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You couldn’t even see him at first—your vision swam from the pain, your body sprawled awkwardly on the cold tile floor. The sharp edge of the sink bit into your side as you tried to sit upright, your other trembling hand pressed protectively against your stomach. The air shifted, heavier somehow, like something massive had entered the room. You forced yourself to look up, squinting through the haze.

He stood in the doorway, tall enough that he seemed to block out the light spilling in from the hall. He had to duck slightly to clear the frame, stepping inside with a confidence that bordered on insolence, like he owned the place. He was broad-shouldered, his form looming and imposing, dressed in a loose hoodie that made him look even larger. His face was partially obscured by shadows, but you caught glimpses of sharp, angular features—a jawline carved from stone and eyes, predatory and unreadable.

“Hey, the fall looks nasty.” He said as he crouched slowly, knees bending with a shift of worn jeans fabric as he brought himself down to your level. The movement was unsettlingly fluid for someone so massive. Especially since he was still looming over you like a giant.

Up close, you could see him better—his face was unnervingly smooth for a man who carried himself like he’d lived through hell. His hair was short and faintly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. You couldn’t tell if he was young or old.

“Your sorcerer's brats…I can feel it. They’re… restless, aren’t they?” He said matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting pointedly to your swollen abdomen.

The words sent a shiver crawling down your spine, and you became hyperaware that you were only in a flimsy nightgown as you protectively clutched your stomach. “How do you know that?” you managed to croak out, your voice trembling.

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “It’s my hobby to know these things.” His tone was mocking, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of something darker there, something that made your chest tighten. “And you’re in pain far too often, aren’t you?”

You glared at him, eyes narrowing. “You walk around noticing pregnant women?!!”

“No, the service is exclusive to you, princess.” He said, laughing, the sound so loud it was rumbling in your bones.

You flinched as he reached for you, his hand massive, calloused, and littered with faint scars.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed instinctively, curling tighter around your stomach, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through your abdomen. You gasped sharply, vision blurring at the edges again.

The man didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he studied you with a quiet, unsettling patience, as though deciding something important. Finally, he exhaled, a sound like a low growl, and said, "Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arm sliding carefully beneath your knees and back like you weighed negative but also fragile. However, you stiffened, every muscle in your body tensing as he lifted you, the pressure in your abdomen worsening with the shift in gravity.

“Put me down,” you gritted out, struggling weakly against his hold, but he didn’t budge. The grip he had on you was far stronger than anything you could have fought.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, sounding vaguely amused again. “You can fight me later. For now, shut up and let me help you.”

Your head lolled against his chest, the fight draining from you as the pain surged again. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision blurred further. You caught the faint scent of him—smoke, faintly metallic, and something almost feral, something wrong that made the hair on your arms stand on end. He didn’t smell like anyone you’d ever met before.

“Why are you helping me?” you murmured weakly, your voice barely above a whisper

His features softened at the question, and when he answered, his tone was quieter, but no less unsettling.

“Because someone should.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t unravel. You blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes, the edges of your consciousness starting to fray as exhaustion tugged at you. He didn’t look down, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was something about the way he held you—something deliberate, something protective—that made you believe him, if only for a moment.

The last thing you heard before you drifted into unconsciousness was the sound of his low, rumbling voice, almost to himself.

“You’re tougher than you look, princess.”

And then the darkness swallowed you whole as he lay you on your bed.

The next day you had woken up feeling human again, or as human as you could feel in your human vending machine state. You were cocooned in far warmer blankets that you didn’t own, surrounded by vitamins, pregnancy pain medications, and food in the fridge that you hadn’t ordered. The front door of your apartment was now reinforced, and by the kitchen counter, new keys were attached to a sticky note bearing a name. His name.

A/N: Feel like throwing your phone yet? Good. 🫠 That means I’ve done my job. Now, let’s talk about him. The towering enigma with predator energy who broke into your apartment like it’s a casual Tuesday and called you “princess.” (✿ ͡👁️ ᴗ ͡👁️) WHO IS HE?! Shadowy savior? Bored stalker? Gym bro with too much free time? Is this Toji’s long-lost cousin? Sukuna in a hoodie? Kashimo on his day off? Choso after therapy? Or someone even worse? 😱 Bonus points if you drop “Gakuganji” in the comments for chaos. (╯ ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛)╯┻━┻ Team Nanami? Team Gojo? Team Mystery Hunk? Or Team ‘Let Reader Nap in Peace’? 🤔 Drop your loyalty, wildest theories, unhinged guesses, and thirst-fueled fan-castings below because this love story is messier than Gojo’s hair on a Monday. Next chapter: Yaga playing babysitter for two emotionally constipated men who need therapy, not bail money, and maybe why Reader deleted her socials. Until then, stop shaving your hoo-ha with someone else’s trimmers—Gojo would 100% snitch to HR. 💅 And if you’re not on the taglist yet, comment below to join the chaos. 😈

Next Chapter 3 - Corporate Warfare: Protocol The Circus of Two (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth

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will-0-w · 2 days ago

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nanami and pregnant!reader fluff

nanami takes extra care of you while you’re pregnant, making sure you don’t overdo any work at home and always helping you with the most minuscule tasks like making food or getting dressed

sitting down on the couch? he’s right next to you helping you carefully sit down. getting off the couch? again he’s right there to help you, he doesn’t want you to tire yourself out even if you protest

nanami has everything sorted, he’s more than happy to get anything you need wether it be one of your pregnancy cravings or something so simple like a glass of water

it’s your fourth month into the pregnancy when winter finally arrives and it’s time to decorate the house for the festive season, nanami has everything set out from baubles to lights to miscellaneous decorations

you both spend the day decorating or rather he does, nanami did everything for you, saying that you shouldn’t exert yourself and he’s more than happy to place the decorations according to your instructions

evening comes around when the you are both finishing adding the last few baubles to the christmas tree in the living room, the house is twinkling with sparkling lights and other decorations. he stands beside you as you place the last bauble onto the branch and then take the time to admire your handiwork

nanami comes up to hug you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“i think it turned out well.” he mused and you leaned your head back against his chest, letting out a content sigh.

#jjk fanfic #fanfic #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #jjk fluff #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk #kento fluff #fluff

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sillylittledistraction · 2 days ago

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LOUD AND CLEAR.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk nanami #so real #need him so bad #nanami my love #kento nanami #i love him so much #hes mine

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moonlitwitchdaisy · 3 days ago

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a little note: i was planning to share it next week, but i got a sudden burst of motivation and decided to share it today. even though i couldn’t find any fan art of soccer player nanami, i found this art by @chachachia0 on X. i imagined it as the pose he gave for the "Sexiest Man Alive 2021" issue lol. enjoy reading! up next we have nfl'sdirtyplayer!toji :)

.ᐟ more about nanami's best friends (mlbplayer!gojo┊nbastar!geto)

uefachampion!nanami who is not only a UEFA champion but also a FIFA World Cup winner.

uefachampion!nanami who has won the “Player of the Year” award at the Globe Soccer Awards five times in a row, becoming the only player to achieve this.

uefachampion!nanami who always gives his jersey to a young fan after every match, as there is nothing that makes him happier than seeing children smile.

uefachampion!nanami who was named People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” in 2021.

uefachampion!nanami who battled depression for a long time due to the immense responsibilities expected of him as one of the greatest football players in the world.

uefachampion!nanami who became an alcoholic during his depressive period.

uefachampion!nanami who divorced the wife he loved more than anything because of the hardships he faced. Even though he didn’t want to.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, despite living far from the media, was on the front pages for a long time due to the news of his divorce.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who was granted a one-season leave by his club to get himself together after showing up drunk to training (and even some matches).

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, when on the verge of losing it completely, decided to change for the sake of you and your son. He promised himself he’d do whatever it took to get better.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who has been going to therapy regularly since deciding to recover.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who now spends more time with his son. Although he doesn’t believe he’s the best father in the world, his son will always think of him as the best.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, despite being divorced from you, still texts you “Good morning, my love” every day and asks if you need anything, only for you to reject him each time.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who would give up everything just to sit at the dinner table with you and your son as a family again.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who understands that you still worry about him, even though he’s better now. Even a small “How are you?” or “How is therapy going?” from you means the world to him.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who has never taken off his wedding ring despite your divorce. When you asked him why he didn’t remove it, saying it no longer mattered, he froze and replied, “After our son, this is the most important thing to me.”

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who thinks you never wear your ring, unaware that you carry it on a chain around your neck every single day.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who returned to the field the next season to a sold-out stadium. (The tickets for the match sold out in 50 seconds, setting a record for the fastest ticket sales in history.)

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who wishes you and your son could come to all of his matches like before. Though devastated when he finds out you can’t make it, he’s determined to never pressure you while trying to win you back.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who wears his wedding ring on a chain during training and matches and kisses it before every game.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, with the help of his friends (Geto and Gojo) and his sister, has truly healed and refuses to ever return to his old self.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who secretly hates his best friend, NBA star Geto, because his sister is dating him. Even though it bothers him, he knows there’s no better choice for his “little princess.”

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who convinces you and your son to attend the New Year’s dinner hosted by his other close friend, famous baseball player Gojo, even though you initially object. He knows you miss them too (especially his sister).

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who is incredibly happy during the dinner. Being with his family and closest friends again is all he has wanted for a long time.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who sees a notification on your phone during the dinner, realizing you’re seeing someone new. Overwhelmed with anger and heartbreak, he doesn’t know what to do.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who refrains from drinking alcohol even though he desperately wants to, upon seeing that person's message.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who stops talking to you much when he picks up your son from your house. He still wants to win you back but accepts that he needs to let go now that there’s someone else in your life.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who secretly feels happy when he finds out your son doesn’t like your new partner. (Like father, like son.)

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, when dropping your son off at your house and seeing your new partner, wants to punch him but holds back. After saying, “See you next week,” to your son, he turns around when he hears you call out to him as he walks to his car.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami whose heart breaks into pieces when you ask why he’s been acting cold, and he says, “Because you deserve better than me,” as he notices the tears forming in your eyes.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who goes on a few dates to forget you but leaves after 5 minutes each time.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who cries for the second time in his life when his sister facetimes him from Italy at midnight to tell him that Geto proposed to her. (He also wants a front-row seat to see Gojo’s meltdown upon learning that Geto will marry before him.)

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who tells you the good news about his sister and, seeing you cry tears of joy, can no longer hold back and kisses you. Even more shocking is when you kiss him back.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who stops kissing you when you start sobbing uncontrollably. While you were crying and confessed that you never stopped loving him, he gently caressed your cheeks and murmured, “I know I’m not the best husband or father in the world, but I’m trying to be the best for you and our son. Until death do us part, you’re my wife. Hell, not even death could part us.” As he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, he took in your scent completely.

uefachampion!exhusband!nanami who, when your son sees you close again, says, "Come here," and as he hugs both of you, he feels like everything has finally gone back to the way it used to be.

uefachampion!exhuband(?)!nanami who proposes to you again 12 hours after reconciling. When he realizes you’ve been carrying your old wedding ring around your neck, he tosses the new ring aside, lifts you into his arms, and carries you to your room to be inside again. (Yes, he already moved your and your son’s belongings back to your “real home” after reconciling, and yes, he’s thrilled to finally be inside you again. Don’t worry—your son was at Uncle Gojo’s house that day…)

uefachampion!husband!nanami who marries you again in an intimate ceremony with only close friends and family. (Of course, Gojo sobbed uncontrollably and spent the night drunk, clinging to both of you.)

uefachampion!husband!nanami who can now sleep peacefully every night, knowing he gets to come home to you and your son.

uefachampion!husband!nanami who scores five goals in the season’s most important match, knowing you and your son are watching him.

uefachampion!husband!nanami who cries for the third time in his life when he finds out on his birthday that he’s going to be a father again.

uefachampion!husband!nanami who watches Geto and his sister dance at their wedding, with one hand resting on your swollen belly where your daughter grows, and the other gently stroking the hair of your son sleeping in his lap.

uefachampion!husband!nanami who has never gone a single day without striving to be the best for his family.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

divider by @enchanthings-a

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #nanami kento #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #nanami kento angst #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento headcanons

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thesoftuglywrites · 3 days ago

Text

Like A Million Yen

Originally, I wanted to get this posted on the 31st of October… that clearly didn’t happen. Oh well.

Post-Shibuya!Nanami

Enjoy!

WC: 4.3 K

Panic overwhelmed you as you hurriedly scoured through the makeshift infirmary. The only sound registering in your ears was the thrumming of your erratic heartbeat and the rushing of blood.

You had known that Kento was called in to deal with an emergent mission that had suddenly sprung up on the both of you, but never in a million years could you have imagined something as grand-scale as this. The only thing that compared would probably have been the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons almost a year ago, but Kento managed to survive that situation relatively unscathed.

This time was different.

You had received the call from Yuuji, that Kento was severely injured and that you had to come quickly. The news, at first, startled you, but what scared you the most was how defeated and exhausted Yuuji’s voice sounded.

You acted fast, darting in and out of the curtained and sectioned off rooms, and past the lined up cots that held all of the other injured sorcerers and civilians. Though you couldn’t see yourself, you could only imagine how disheveled and wild you looked as you frantically searched for your husband.

“Mrs. Nanami!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, and turned to see Yuuji, all battered and cut up from the battle that had ensued. That he had survived.

You let out a breath of relief that you didn't even know that you were holding in, and rushed towards him, pulling him into your arms, and crushing him to your chest. You were grateful to see him on his feet, taking his appearance into consideration, of course, but you were thankful that he was alive and breathing, nonetheless.

"Thank God you're okay," you whispered, your hands tightly gripping at the back of his tattered uniform. You pulled away, and gently cupped the sides of his face. "Are you hurt?"

Yuuji, seemingly slipped into a dissociative state as he bore a thousand yard stare into your eyes as he looked back at you, blinked a couple of times as he was able register that you were speaking to him.

"I, uh... I'm fine Mrs. Nanami, I swear, " he stammered out, rather unconvincingly.

You were going to circle back to Yuuji whenever the circumstance would allow you to, but right now, you just wanted to be reunited with your husband more than anything.

"Yuuji, can you take me to Kento? I don't know where they're keeping him..." You've never sounded so small before. You hated it.

Yuuji grasped your wrist and led you to the farthest corner of the infirmary, guiding you to the end of a long line of curtained beds. You could feel your heart hammer against your chest the closer and closer you got to Kento, the beating sound beginning to overpower your sense of hearing. That's all you could really hear in that moment in time.

At the very end of the line, Yuuji stopped and pulled back the divider of the very last section, letting you go ahead of him into the tiny impromptu room. You hesitantly stepped in, your eyes landing on a figure that was laid on a cot.

As you approached, you could see that it was in fact Kento and that half of his body was wrapped up in white bandages, the other half was seemingly left unharmed. For the most part, at least. His hair was a birds nest upon his head, the skin that was left uncovered was bruised with black and blue marks, and he looked utterly exhausted.

You pulled up a chair that was in the room and placed it beside the cot, and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch, and you watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath he took, reinforcing the fact that your husband was alive. Injured and wounded to an extent that you didn't know of just quite yet, but alive, regardless. You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, thanking whatever higher power would bother to even listen to you in that moment.

You held his hand up to your lips for a few seconds longer, before giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Nghh.... darling? Is that you?"

His voice pulled you out of your silent reverie, and you almost cried tears of joy when you saw your husbands uncovered eye looking at you blearily.

You wanted to throw yourself on top of his body, but rationality stopped you from doing so. So, instead, you opted to placing his palm on your cheek, trying to gain some semblance of control over your emotions as they began to spiral out of control the more that you leaned into his touch and sought out his warmth.

You wanted to be strong for Kento.

You had to be strong for Kento. Especially, considering that there was likely going to be a long road of recovery ahead of him.

You wanted, no, needed to be a rock for him to build his foundation on, like he had done for you many times before in times of turmoil for you.

"How are you feeling?" you managed to get out, your voice shaky.

He gave you a half-hearted smile. "Like a million yen, my love."

You leaned over him to press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering just a second too long. "Well, thank goodness for that." You tenderly pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you just tried to bask in his presence and his touch.

"You're not going to be happy with me."

You pulled away, confused. "What? Why would I be unhappy with you?"

A tiny, sheepish grin. "I've lost my wedding ring."

You got the full story from Yuuji when Kento had been taken to a healing session with Shoko the next morning. He had been badly burned by some unregistered special grade, and, instead of seeking out help like he should have initially done, had recklessly put himself back into the line of duty and had fought off a horde of transfigured humans in his horrendously mutilated state in hopes of searching for his fallen comrades. He was about to be transfigured by the special grade that was responsible for the horde, some childlike curse named Mahito, but Yuuji, arriving at the eleventh hour, managed to prevent that from happening, swiftly dealing with it before anymore damage could occur.

You had made a mental note to thank Yuuji in some grand, special way that you could go about. Whether it would be a home cooked meal with all the stops pulled out, or, hell, maybe even adoption papers (though, that would have to definitely be discussed with Kento before anything like that came to fruition), you had to do something for the young sorcerer to properly thank him for saving your significant other.

Kento had been promptly discharged from acute medical observation after having spent a week within the confines of the Jujutsu High Infirmary and having numerous healing sessions with Shoko in the process. His red, angry burned left half of his body slowly dimmed to a lightly, flushed pink, and the hair on that side of his body was going to take come time to grow back, of course. Unfortunately, his left eye was something that Shoko was able to regenerate, but he wasn't going to be able to see out of it, rendering him to the use of an eyepatch.

You had spent every waking moment with Kento, doing everything in your power to aide him and be of assistance to him in whatever way possible. You had helped him to the toilets whenever he needed to go, you helped bathe him all while trying to be conscientious of his healing skin, had been at his beck and call and had promptly forced him back into bed several times whenever he tried to go and do things independently.

He hated being catered to, being treated like he was incapable of doing things for himself, by himself. For you, however, he allowed the exception. Begrudgingly, if that.

The first few weeks back home were... uneasy, to say the least.

Every time that you caught Kento looking at himself in the mirror, you would see his mouth turn up in disgust, and he would briskly turn his head in the other direction. He didn't want to leave the apartment, fearing what the general public may think of him.

You've never known your husband to be extraordinarily vain, but you wanted to give him some grace. His appearance and some of his physical capabilities have been drastically changed, and the both of you needed to take some time to get used to it.

As time went on, his mood became more and more surly.

He had withdrawn within himself, and no matter how determined you were to try and coax out what he was truly feeling inside, he would shut down and go nonverbal.

What was most hurtful, however, was how reluctant he was to let you touch him, and vice versa. It seemed that any chance you would take to try and initiate some form of physical affection with him, Kento would immediately brush you off or straight up reject your advances.

"Not tonight, my love. I just want to go to bed."

"Not right now, darling. I'm not in the mood."

Oh, and you could forget about sex. There was no way in hell Kento allowed you to touch him in that sort of regard. Not that you wanted to get physically intimate with him, keeping in mind that he way still recovering from some pretty egregious injuries on the entire half of his left body.

It was just something that lingered in your mind for some time.

You knew that the road to recovery was going to going to be a long one, but you hadn't anticipated the man that your husband was becoming.

Or had already become.

Yuuji, Megumi, Ino, Ijichi, Shoko, and among others paid visits to your home, checking in the two of you to see how you were faring, Shoko mainly stopping in to see how Kento was healing in his post treatment. Shoko was really the only one that Kento allowed to see, hiding himself away in the safety and privacy of your bedroom if it was anyone else.

You knew at some point that Kento was going to have to talk to you, about anything and everything that was going on inside him. It was just a matter of when it was going to happen.

The straw that broke the camels back was when Kento, all while trying to enjoy a cup of coffee at the dining table, accidentally lost his grip on his mug, causing it to shatter on the ground, allowing the contents to spill out all over the floor.

"God dammit!" he quietly snarled to himself as he leaned down beside the chair to pick up the shards of the mug, his hands trembling.

You rushed forward with a dish towel, trying to beat him to the shards of the broken mug. "Here, let me-"

You threw the towel over the mess, as you tenderly picked up the bits of the broken mug and placed them in the palm of your hand, careful not to try and pierce yourself with them.

"I'm sorry."

You paused, looking up at him questionably. "Why are you sorry? It was an accident, Kento. This hardly deserves an apology."

A forlorn look crossed his facial features, the unmarred half of his face scrunching up like he was trying to fight off an onslaught of tears that welled up in his eyes. As he sat there, his emotions brewing within him, he felt like he was a child again. The despair and turmoil swirling in both his chest and his abdomen, overwhelming him as his current state of mind rendered him to feel as if these things were too … too complex for him to process, like he was experiencing it again for the very first time. It was as if the world was too big for him, and he was too small for it. "No. I'm sorry."

You realized that this was more than just the spilled coffee and the broken mug. You stood up, holding the mug in the safety net of the dish rag, watching as Kento began to speak his piece.

A few tears managed to spill over, and you watched as they rolled down his cheek. “When I was sucked into the domain expansion of that water-based Curse along with Maki, Megumi, and Naobito, I thought of you.” He wiped away at the tears on his cheek, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t meet your gaze. "When I was burned by that unregistered special grade, I thought of you. I had… I could’ve gone back to Shoko. I should have gone back…"

You remained silent as your husband broke open before you, the floodgates now barreling wide open. He hunched his shoulders forward, leaning somewhat of his weight onto the table as a sob ripped through his core.

"I nearly died, and left you behind."

In that moment, the reality of the ordeal that Kento survived seemed to finally sink in. The repressed shock and horror coming to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to relive those moments, from the moment when he first set foot within the veil to nearly dying at the hands of the Special-Grade Curse in the Shibuya subway station. He buried his face into his hands and cried, his entire trunk rattling with each shaky breath he took.

He cried for the fact that students, fellow sorcerers, and innocent civilians alike were murdered in cold blood. He cried for the fact that he wasn't able to protect Maki, Megumi, and Naobito from the unregistered special grade. He cried for the fact, that instead of seeking help when he was gravely injured, that he foolishly put himself back onto the frontline. He cried for the fact that he was content with dying at the hands of Mahito, with the prospect of you becoming a widow at such a young age, especially when the pair of you had only been married for a little over two years.

It became clear to you that Kento was suffering from survivor’s guilt. To him, why was he, out of everyone who responded to the incident in Shibuya, allowed to survive?

Why was he granted the ability to continue on living, when there were people who were far more deserving of it?

You set the dishrag on the table top, unable to idly stand by while Kento was in distress. With careful hesitation, you slowly extended your hand out to him, softly touching his shoulder as they shook with sobs. You held still for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction to your physical contact with him, unsure if he would allow you to continue any further.

When he didn't flinch away or move your hand off his shoulder, you cautiously inched closer to him and pulled him by his shoulders into you, letting him bury his face into your chest. You wrapped your arms around his head, threading your fingers into his hair.

"How can you stand to touch me?! Or even be near me?! I'm hideous," he sobbed, his voice muffled.

"I married you for you, remember?"

Kento lifted his face out of the valley of your breasts and met your gaze, his eyes swollen and teary. You tenderly placed a hand on the scarred side of his face, and stroked his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Is this okay?"

He nodded mutely, and closed his eyes, leaning his face into your hand. Kento denied himself the joy of your touch and comfort since he’s been back home with you, out of the shame and humiliation that he harbored for himself.

"I married a kind, gentle, and loving man. A courageous, and valiant man, someone who abnegates himself and his own safety for those he oversees, especially for his students, so that they can make it back home to their loved ones alive and breathing." You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his hair. "I’m blessed to have such a wonderful person to call mine. Above all, I’m blessed that this person allows me to call them mine, and that they chose me, out of all the potential partners that they could have had… they chose me." You leaned down and pressed a kiss to each of his closed eyelids, your lips lingering on his left side for a second longer than the right side. "And I am forever grateful for that."

A beat of silence passed between the two of you after you finished speaking.

"I should be dead."

Dread washed through you at his statement, but you quickly pushed it to the side, trying to remain steadfast. "But you’re not, Kento. You’re here with me."

Kento gently pushed you back several inches, giving him some room to stand up from the chair to his full height. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his front, allowing you to place the side of your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"And for that, my love, I am forever grateful."

Both you and Kento weaved your way through the crowds as the two of you trekked to the underground labyrinth that was the Tokyo subway station. You were headed back Jujutsu Tech for a final checkup appointment with Shoko for Kento.

It wasn't easy to convince him to step out of your shared apartment for the first time, but with enough encouragement and persuading from your end, he finally gave in. One of the conditions, however, was that you accompany him on his appointment and that you find him an eyepatch to wear over his left eye.

You also saw that as an opportunity to see Yuuji. You know that the poor boy has been worried sick over Kento.

You hadn't noticed that there was a slight lag in Kento's hold on your hand as you led him through the crowds until you suddenly were yanked backwards, making you groan out a soft 'oof'.

You turned around to see what was the matter, only to find Kento's gaze focused on a point in the distance, his stare unblinking. You craned your head the other way to see what he was so focused on.

B5.

You heard his respiration hitch and pick up in rate, teetering towards hyperventilating the more he stared at the sign on the wall.

"Hey, hey, hey," you gently cooed, quickly jumping into action to try and prevent a full on panic attack out in the open. You grabbed hold of Kento's face with both of your hands, pulling his gaze away from the sign to bring his eyes down to yours. "Look at me, nothing's going to happen. I promise."

"I...I can't-" his voice sounds strangled.

"Yes, you can. Mahito was exorcised, Yuuji saw it happen himself. You're not as injured as you were before. You're healed. I'm with you, and I'll be with you every step of the way."

Kento visibly relaxed to a certain extent the more you soothe him, your rationality of the situation overpowering his anxiety.

"Here's what's going to happen: we're going to get on the subway, like the many times that we've done before. We're going to ride the subway for six stops until we get to the stop that's ten minutes away from Jujutsu Tech. We'll leave the station, and walk the ten minutes to campus so Shoko can check you out one last time and then we're going to pay Yuuji a visit in his dorm. Don't you need to thank him still?"

He nodded, his shoulders sagging as his head dropped.

"Then let's go, yeah? We’re about to miss our train." You offered him a full hearted smile as you tugged him towards the station.

He let out an apprehensive sigh, letting you guide him forward.

Kento maintained an ironlike grip on your hand as the two of you rode the train, his eye flitting between you and the other passengers, constantly surveying his surroundings in fear that danger would arise at any moment. You silently reassured him by squeezing his hand every so often, your thumb softly stroking the backside of his hand wherever you could reach.

As you expected, the train ride went without a hitch as the car rolled to a stop at your desired destination. He maintained his hold on your hand as you climbed the stairs out of the subway station, slowly but surely releasing some of the tension in his grip.

"See? What'd I tell you?" You leaned up to peck his cheek, reaching the top of the stairs.

"We're having Ijichi drive us back," he grumbled, a scowl forming on his face.

"Ijichi's out attending to a mission with Panda. And besides, this is good exposure therapy for you."

"Ugh."

The appointment with Shoko also went without any issues, with her performing a full body examination on Kento, testing his movements and reflexes on his left side, while getting updates on how he was faring back home. Shoko also let out a low hum of approval at the mention of Kento getting back onto the subway. She signed off on his case file, granting him full permission to get back out into the field, though, all parties in the conversation knew that the possibility of that actually happening was few and far between.

Yuuji was ecstatic to see the two of you standing outside of his dorm, yelping out a lively "Nanamin!" as he launched himself onto Kento, engulfing him into a bear hug.

Kento, taking it all in stride, chuckled and patted the back of Yuuji's head with his free hand. "Hello, Itadori-kun."

The young boy wasted no time, pulling the two of you into his dorm room, filling you in on everything that had gone on campus, mainly sticking around Toge, Panda, and Megumi as everyone was still trying to recover from the grand scale attack that was Shibuya. You had learned of the fates of Nobara and Maki, Kento softly exhaling out a breath that he didn't even realize that he was holding in, now knowing that Maki was alive and well, just recovering from extreme burns like he had been, as well as Nobara also narrowly escaping death from Mahito, permanently blinding her from her left eye.

Both girls were still in recovery. Kento made mental notes to himself to check in on them whenever his schedule would allow him to. He also made a mental note to scold Nobara whenever he would get the chance to, now remembering that he had instructed both her and Nitta to stay behind and wait for help after he had saved them from the fool with the hand for sword.

"Come over for dinner on Sunday? I'll make your favorite dish, whatever it is," you asked Yuuji as you and Kento headed towards the door, planning on taking your leave.

"Yes, please, Mrs. Nanami! I would love to!"

"Good. You need a proper meal and I know that the convenience store ramen and snacks aren't doing a good enough job of keeping you healthy and strong. The door is open whenever you would like to come over."

As you turned to open the door, you were stopped by an "Oh, wait, Nanamin!"

Kento looked over his shoulder to see Yuuji rummaging through his bedside drawer, before picking up an object that was small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

"I remember the last time I visited your apartment, you had mentioned that Nanamin had lost his wedding ring. So... I figured... y'know?"

Yuuji presented with an open palm, the wedding ring that Kento had been missing since the 31st of October.

"Itadori-kun..." Kento gasped, fully facing Yuuji now as he grabbed the piece of jewelry out of his hand. "How... how did you find this?" He turned the ring all over, inspecting it to find your initials and the date of your wedding inscribed on the inside of his band, thus cementing the fact that it was his wedding band.

"I went back to the Shibuya station and checked all of the lost and founds that were available there," Yuuji answered brightly, watching with joy as Kento slipped the ring into his suit jacket pocket. "When I couldn't find it there, I searched all of the floors and just... got lucky, I guess."

"You have no idea how happy this has made me, Itadori-kun," Kento beamed at Yuuji, reaching forward to pull him into a hug. "Thank you."

Yuuji wordlessly accepted the hug, resting his chin on his shoulder as he squeezed him back.

You watched the scene unfold, a sense of warmth spreading through your chest.

You reminisced on the moments that you and Yuuji shared when Kento was still in the infirmary, thinking on how much Yuuji came to care for him, not just as his mentor, but as a father figure, one that he never got to experience for himself. You knew how much he valued your husband's opinion, and desperately wanted to earn his respect.

He must have been over the moon.

Kento pulled away, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "See you Sunday, yeah?"

"Yeah. Of course, Nanamin. I'll see you and Mrs. Nanami there."

"Alright. Take care of yourself, Itadori-kun."

As you left the main building and ventured into the courtyard, heading to the main entrance of Jujutsu Tech, Kento stopped you, as he dug back into his suit jacket.

"Here." He presented you with his ring. "I want you to do it."

With careful fingers, you gingerly took the ring from his fingers and slid it back onto his left fourth digit. You peered up at him. "How are you feeling, Ken?"

He swooped his left hand with yours and brought it up to his lips, placing a kiss to the back of it.

"Like a million yen, my love."

And this time, he truly meant it.

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aesthetically-dying101 · 2 days ago

Text

Not you.

A/N: yeah so atp this is basically a nanami account idk man, ive been mulling over this idea and just.. couldn't not write it.

warnings: she/her usage, mostly fluff and all, rival to lovers? kinda. Things aren't what they seem. i used a bunch of jargon, but idk what the hell it means so... usage of one or two of Y/N

Nanami Kento was a figure who commanded respect the moment he stepped into any room. As the head of the Financial Department, his reputation preceded him. A man of few words, Nanami always carried himself with a certain gravitas, his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair giving off an air of authority.

He was stoic, often leaving the office before anyone had a chance to catch up with him, and in all the time that anyone had worked with him, Nanami had never once mentioned his personal life.

There were rumors, of course—whispers about his wife, about how he was always so distant and so professional. The office was filled with speculation.

Who was she? What was she like? Why did he never speak of her? The only thing anyone knew for certain was that Nanami Kento had no patience for distractions, and his world revolved entirely around his work.

And then there was you—the head of the Operations Department, responsible for overseeing the company’s logistics, product development, and strategic planning.

Your department was vital to the company’s success, just as Nanami’s was, and your work ethic was practically legendary. You were efficient, meticulous and well-put-together—your image just as carefully crafted as Nanami’s.

But unlike Nanami, you didn’t just command respect, you earned it through your quiet authority, your quick intellect, and your ability to get things done.

You rarely discussed your personal life either, but that wasn’t for the same reasons. The office gossips had often speculated about your marriage, or rather, the lack of concrete information about it. You spoke of your husband in passing—always vague, always careful. When asked about him, you would smile softly and say, “He’s a wonderful cook,” or, “He's the best thing that happened to me,” but you never mentioned his name.

To the other employees, you and Nanami were like opposite ends of a magnet—both incredibly powerful in your respective positions but always repelling each other in public.

It was simple, you hated each other.

Allegedly.

*-*

The conference room was filled with the soft hum of hushed conversations as the remaining members of the board filtered in, the meeting about to begin.

The room, with its glass walls and sleek wooden table, seemed to swallow the light, the air thick with unspoken energy. The usual quiet before a presentation had taken on a different tone today—a sort of heavy, expectant stillness.

Everyone knew what this meeting would be like. The air was thick with anticipation, the feeling of two titans preparing to clash.

At the head of the table, Nanami sat with his usual impassive expression. His eyes, sharp and cold as always, scanned over the presentation materials before him, making quick, methodical notes in the margins of his tablet. His hands, large and steady, moved with precision, his posture impeccable. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a slight edge to his usual stoic appearance—his jaw set tighter than usual, his gaze flickering over the documents in front of him but never staying too long in one place.

Across the table, you did the same. Your posture was straight, your fingers tapping lightly against your own tablet- though your eyes remained focused on Nanami as if assessing him.

The subtle tension between the two of you could be felt by anyone in the room who dared to glance between the two of you. You had worked with Nanami for long enough to know how he functioned, but still, there was something about this moment that made you feel the familiar bite of competitive energy.

This wasn’t just business. It was more than that. This was your rivalry—your game.

“You two ready?” The CEO’s voice broke the silence, and everyone turned their attention to him, but all eyes remained glued to you and Nanami.

A brief, almost imperceptible glance passed between you and Nanami before you both nodded.

Nanami spoke first.

“I’ll start with the financial outlook,” he said, his deep voice calm and unwavering. His tone was confident, measured—his usual professional self. No one could ever accuse him of overacting or raising his voice unnecessarily.

That was his strength. Efficiency, precision.

You watched him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you mentally prepared yourself. You knew exactly what he was going to do—reel off the statistics and the metrics, the numbers that made sense but lacked the full scope of the opportunity you were about to present. You weren't going to let him walk away with this meeting.

You wouldn’t let him win.

Not today.

“Based on the projections, our current approach remains sustainable,” Nanami continued, pointing at his presentation slides, his finger steady. “We will continue with conservative growth, minimizing risks while maximizing short-term profitability.”

The numbers slid onto the screen with ease, each one perfectly in place, each calculation undeniably sound. You couldn’t help but appreciate his work. His plans were always tight, methodical—there was never a flaw. But there was also no room for expansion, no room for daring leaps.

That’s where you came in.

With a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you leaned forward, picking up where he left off.

“I agree with the numbers,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying through the room. “But sustainability doesn’t always mean profitability. If we’re talking about the long-term viability of the company, we need to look at diversification.”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, then continued, your eyes never leaving his.

“You’ve kept it safe, Nanami. But we’re not here to play it safe. We’re here to grow, to expand. You can only play it safe for so long before the market overtakes us. I say we invest in new international markets, even if it means taking on a bit more risk upfront.”

There was a slight shift in Nanami’s demeanor. A tightening in his jaw. A flare of something in his icy blue eyes. But his expression remained unreadable as he flipped to the next slide.

“And what about the supply chain issues in the Southeast Asia region?” he asked, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. He wasn’t backing down. “Any suggestions for how we mitigate that risk?”

“More diversification,” you shot back without hesitation, your tone smooth, but firm. “We can’t afford to rely on just one region when there are so many variables outside of our control. What we need is a more global approach—one that doesn’t put all our eggs in one basket.”

The tension in the room was palpable now.

Everyone could feel it. The subtle undercurrent of animosity, the way your words were calculated to provoke, the way Nanami’s responses were sharp, measured, never losing his composure.

There was a reason everyone in the office avoided the two of you when these meetings happened. The air seemed to hum, charged with an energy that made everything else feel distant.

A low murmur swept through the room as Nanami gave his final response.

“Diversification is too risky at this point. We don’t know enough about the regions you’re suggesting, and I don’t intend to make decisions based on speculative information.” His voice was calm but firm. “Without concrete data, we can’t afford to gamble the company’s future.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And I’m saying we won’t have a future if we don’t take risks. Sure, we can stay on this safe path, but it’s the same one we’ve been on for years, and it’ll eventually stagnate.” You leaned forward, pushing the point. “We need to be ahead of the curve, Nanami, or we’ll get swallowed up by the competition. The world doesn’t wait for us to get comfortable.”

There was a long pause. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Nanami’s counterattack.

“You’re assuming the worst-case scenario,” Nanami replied, his voice still calm but with a subtle bite to it. “I don’t deal in worst-case scenarios. I deal in facts. And the fact is, our company is thriving just fine as it is.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smiled slightly, leaning back in your chair with a controlled breath.

“That’s because of people like me, Nanami. People who know that thriving isn’t enough. We need to evolve.”

It was a quiet challenge. A call to the very heart of his cautious nature, the kind of challenge that stirred something deep in both of you.

For a moment, the room was silent. No one dared to speak, sensing the standoff between the two of you. You both knew the stakes. Your points were valid, and his were just as solid. But in this game, it wasn’t just about who was right—it was about who could bend the other to their will.

And with that, the meeting continued, but the energy in the room never quite settled. The board members watched in silence, accustomed to the tension between you and Nanami by now, though none of them fully understood the true nature of the competition, of the rivalry between you two.

It wasn’t just about the work.

It never was.

And as the presentations came to an end and everyone began to file out of the room, Nanami gave you one last glance—his eyes not cold, but something else. Something unreadable, but familiar.

“Good work,” he said, almost as if he were conceding a point, though his tone remained neutral.

*-*

The day had been long—longer than usual, filled with presentations, sharp glances and the undercurrent of competition that was familiar but still exhilarating.

As the office began to empty, you found yourself walking down the hallway, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It had been a long day, but the tension that lingered between Nanami and you after the meeting was… intoxicating. And, as always, you had a feeling you’d be running into him soon.

And by "running into him," you meant, of course, you were about to collide on purpose.

As if on cue, you turned a corner and found yourself standing in front of the conference room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see the faint outline of Nanami’s figure inside.

You paused, your heart picking up pace, knowing what was about to happen.

This wasn't just a coincidence, it never was.

You pushed the door open, slipping inside with a barely noticeable smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Late-night work, Kento?” you asked, playing it cool, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you.

Nanami didn’t look up right away.

He was leaning over a set of papers, reviewing something quietly, and for a brief second, he gave no indication that he had even noticed you’d entered.

But you knew he had.

You always knew.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but with a certain edge to it, “-didn’t expect you to be so punctual after our little ‘debate’ today.”

You took a slow step forward, your heels clicking softly as you closed the gap between you.

“Oh, I’m always punctual. You know that.”

Nanami glanced up, his gaze narrowing slightly as his eyes met yours. That familiar, teasing tension was already swirling between you. You could practically feel it crackling in the air. And, just like every time before, it was like you were the only two people in the world.

You leaned against the table, crossing your arms casually.

“So, what’s the verdict on my very risky ideas from earlier? Did I win, or are we still battling it out?”

His lips quirked slightly, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood from the chair with slow deliberation, locking eyes with you as he did. There was a dangerous, playful glint in his gaze now.

“We both know you’re stubborn,” he said softly, a challenge laced in his tone. “But you do make a good point every now and then.”

Before you could respond, Nanami turned and locked the door behind you, the soft click of the lock reverberating through the room.

You raised an eyebrow, the realization hitting you like a slow wave. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Kento,” you teased, but your voice softened.

He didn’t reply at first. Instead, Nanami took a step closer, closing the distance between you until there was only a whisper of air separating you. His hand reached up, fingers grazing your cheek, his touch delicate but firm. The tension between you felt so thick it could’ve suffocated anyone else in the room, but not you two.

You thrived in it.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your lips, “I do love how much you push me.”

“And I love how much you push me,” you whispered back, your voice low and steady, heart pounding in your chest.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could fully register what was happening, his hand was on the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a force that sent your pulse racing. Your lips met in a sudden, heated kiss.

No words. No preamble.

Just pure, undeniable fire.

The kiss was a clash of desire and frustration—a mingling of rivalry and affection. You could feel his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded by tangling your fingers into his shirt, tugging him even nearer.

Between kisses, Nanami murmured softly against your lips, each word barely audible but intense.

“You were right, you know. Your presentation was damn good. Risky as hell, but good.”

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips even as you kissed him back.

“Yeah? I know. I did well.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest. “You always do,” he muttered, his voice soft and warm despite the heat of the kiss.

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw. The intensity of the moment was enough to make you forget everything around you. In this room, there was no competition, no rivalry—just you two. Just him. Just the way you were always meant to be.

And then, between frantic kisses, his voice dropped into a breathless whisper. “Marry me.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion. “What?”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you with the same affection that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Marry me again,” he repeated, his voice thick with sincerity. “You already have my heart, but I want to do this all over again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and joyful. “You already asked me, Ken.”

He grinned, his hands pulling you closer again. “Then let me ask you again. Marry me.”

You held up your hand, showing him the ring that already glimmered on your finger. “You really don’t need to ask. I already said yes.”

Nanami pressed his lips to yours once more, his kiss warm and tender this time, as if every part of him was soaking in the quiet joy of the moment. In between kisses, you heard him whisper,

“I don’t care. I want to ask you every day.”

And as the kiss deepened once more, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the competition, all the tension, all the heated moments between you—they were all just a reminder of how much you really loved each other.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

A/N: yeah so idk my brain just couldn't not think of this. i might remake this into a longer fic bc I LOVE this premise so much

Masterlist

#jjk #jujustu kaisen #nanami kento #fluff #nanami x reader #jjk fluff #rivals to lovers #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami #jjk au #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #hes so cute #what an icon

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silentscrying · 3 days ago

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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track five: the battle of the bands

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, alcohol, DOGGOS, yuji literally is just a ray of sunshine 24/7, mentions of drunk driving, so much fluff, ridiculous amount of kissing tbh, short time skip at the end, FINAL CHAPTER! || sfw. 8.8k words.

FOR THE FIRST time in a long stretch of busy days, you wake up not to the chirp of your alarm but to soft rays of Saturday morning sunlight seeping through the cracks in the blinds, painting your eyelids orange-gold. You crack an eye open and find Takuma stirring beside you. Right.

“Morning,” you whisper. For a moment, when Takuma opens his eyes, he looks surprised, and then he seems to remember why and how you got here and his expression melts into a soft smile.

“Morning, Skip.” He yawns. “Time’s it?”

You shrug. You’re pretty sure your phone is dead.

“Eh, it’s Saturday,” he mumbles. “S’fine.” You chuckle, daring to reach out and ruffle his hair. You don’t know what this is, the unspoken thing in the thin slice of air between you. You know what you want it to be, though.

For a while you both lie in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of the awakening house float up the stairs toward you. Murmuring, clattering around in the kitchen, the front door opening and closing, cars outside.

“Hey,” you say eventually, making eye contact. His eyes are a very deep shade of brown, dark but warm in a way that reminds you of old bookshelves or tree bark after the rain.

“Hey back.”

He’s relaxed, every part of him unhurried, and you take the image of it and stamp it into your mind over the memory of the night prior. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Takuma smiles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Maybe it should be more awkward, the fact that you’re here in his bed in his clothes and you haven’t named whatever it is that stretches out in the silence. But it’s not. It’s just… easy.

“Skipper?”

“Hm?”

“I really, really like you,” Takuma whispers. The words wrap themselves around you, warm when you didn’t know you were cold.

“Yeah?” You bring a hand up to his face, trace the line of his jaw. His cheeks are a little colored in the mix of light slipping through the window and the cracked door. “I really, really like you too, Takuma.”

He cups your face in both hands, pulls your lips to his, and your whole body responds, pressing up against him in the too-small twin bed. Your hand goes to hold the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and this is what people write love songs about, you fucking get it now, all the metaphors and cliché words you thought were exaggerations but no, they’re not, because you’re feeling all of them all at once and you don’t ever want to leave this moment in time.

“Like” doesn’t feel strong enough, not for this. You’ve only known him for a month. Is it really possible he’s already become so integral to the structure of your heart?

You’re kissing in the early morning light and it’s hungrier than you thought your next kiss would be, because even though all the rest of your days are rolling out before you, you don’t know how many there are. He twists so he’s above you on his knees, one of them between your legs, and it’s like a reversal of that night on the roof, like you can feel the night air even in the golden midmorning hours.

“Kuma,” you murmur between kisses, and he grins against your mouth, takes your next breath and makes it his.

At some point you’re interrupted by the startled growl of your stomach, and you break apart, unable to stifle the giggles rising up in your throat. “Well.”

“Well,” Takuma echoes, grinning. He stands and offers you a hand. “Breakfast?”

Downstairs, the house is alive with idle chatter and the clinking of silverware. Kirara is seated atop the counter, legs swinging as she eats a plate of eggs, and Hakari stands beside her leaning against the cabinets. Megumi scrolls absently through his phone at the table, the dogs looking up at him expectantly from either side, and Yuji is digging through a bunch of take-out boxes. When he sees you, his whole face lights up.

“Morning!” he practically sings. “Here, eat food.”

“Where’d this come from?” Takuma asks.

“My friend dropped off breakfast,” Yuji chirps, pushing a Tupperware container of pancakes toward you. If it weren’t for the brace wrapped around his wrist, you’d have no idea anything happened. He’s his usual golden retriever self.

You smile, forking one of the pancakes onto a plate. “That’s sweet.”

Your phone buzzes, and it’s Tsumiki sending you the link to the news brief. You frown at the headline, not out of any disrespect for the writer who stepped up to cover it, but more at the fact that it’s unfortunately true.

JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night

“What’s up?” Takuma asks, immediately noting your expression. You slide the phone across the counter, watching its screen catch the light from the kitchen window. Kirara leans over it as well and starts reading off Junpei’s story halfway through.

“Zenin, who according to a campus police report was driving under the influence of alcohol, was on the phone with an ex-girlfriend when he swerved into the opposite lane.” Her dark brows knit together in some combination of anger and disbelief. “Jesus.”

“That’s fucked,” you murmur.

Someone’s phone rings, and Megumi glances at his screen and blinks, seems to hesitate. Then he gets up and disappears down the hall. You glance at Takuma, but he just shrugs. It’s probably Gojo.

The rest of you eat and eventually make your way to the living room, scattering yourselves across the couch and carpet and chairs.

“That single last night,” Takuma says, letting Kuro jump up beside him on the couch. “Concept. Make it the title track of an EP.”

You blink for a second, startled. “Wait, for real?”

“Yes!” Takuma says, sitting up straighter. “Think about it. Cover art is one of those name tag stickers, you all sign it, wrinkle it up and crease it and take a grainy film photo. And you put the song on it with Next Fix and a couple of your older singles you and blow up.”

“Or you print one off that says hello, our name is,” Kirara pipes up, seeming excited by the idea. “Ooh, you can have an intro track like that.”

“All caps. Just to match the energy,” you say, picturing the EP cover in your mind. “HELLO MY NAME IS. No punctuation either.”

“I like it,” Kirara nods. Takuma’s got that excited shine to his eyes, and you realize he’s very in his element in this conceptual space—he really will be a good producer. He has the mind for it.

Megumi slips back into the room looking a little haphazard, disgruntled, looking anywhere but into anyone else’s eyes, and Yuji cocks his head in question. Not Gojo, then. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Megumi lies, waving him off and turning back toward the kitchen to avoid everyone’s questioning gaze. Hm.You know better than to ask, and it seems that’s the consensus, because nobody pushes it—Megumi will open up in his own time. You hope he figures it out soon.

For your part, it’s a lazy Saturday, hanging out with Takuma, Yuji, Megumi, Kirara, and Hakari, gaming and talking and generally just existing in each other’s presence. After the chaos of last night, it seems to be exactly what all of you needed.

It’s not until late afternoon that Kirara broaches the topic of the band.

She gestures at Yuji, a flapping motion that misses the mark a little because Kirara is sprawled upside-down in the beanbag in the corner. “Itadori, can you, like… drum with that?”

He shrugs, looking down at his injured wrist. “Yeah, probably!” You frown. So much of drumming is in the wrist, and you kind of figured Kirara’s question was rhetorical. You realize abruptly that Shibuya Incident is still going up against Black Flash in the finals on Friday, and if they don’t have Yuji, they’re fucked.

“Psh, don’t look like that, it’s fine,” Yuji insists, grabbing two Wii remotes and wielding them like drumsticks. He goes to bang them around, mimicking a rock beat, and you watch as his face twists into a grimace and he drops one of them. “Okay, so, update: never mind!” He grins sheepishly.

Kirara is the first one to look at you, and by the time you’ve processed what exactly it is she’s trying to say, everyone else has their eyes locked on you—including Yuji.

Oh, shit.

“Whaddaya say, girl drummer?” Kirara asks, pointing a finger gun at you.

“Oh, guys, I don’t… I don’t know, it’s your band. Yuji—”

But Yuji is the one who seems the most excited about it. He’s abandoned both Wii remotes on the floor and is now looking up at you with bright eyes and his eternal grin. “No, Skipper, please? It would be so fun! I can still do aux and stuff. But we could play together! It would be so awesome!”

“Is that even allowed?” you ask, glancing at Takuma, who’s trying and failing to hide a boyishly excited smile. “I mean, I already got eliminated.”

“Hang on,” Hakari says, pulling out his phone. It takes you a minute to realize who he’s asking. “Yeah, no, Panda says it’s whatever. Better that than not have a battle at all.”

Takuma nudges you with a knee, looking at you with steady eyes. It’s your choice, he seems to say.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I should talk to my band first. But… I’m not opposed.”

Yuji whoops so loudly you flinch a little and Takuma grins, putting his arm around you and squeezing your shoulder.

“I probably should head out,” you say, a little reluctantly. “Kinda left the roommates high and dry last night.”

Kirara salutes you, her face red from the blood rush of still being upside down, and Yuji chirps out a happy see ya!

“I’ll walk you out,” Takuma says, standing when you do. You say bye to the band and the dogs and he follows you to the front door, going as far as to step just outside with you. The door stays open just a crack as you linger, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. He pulls you in and kisses you right there on the front step, and you smile against his lips.

“Are we, like…?” Takuma murmurs when he pulls away, cheeks flushed from the question or the cold, you can’t tell.

“Are we what?” you tease, shoving lightly at his chest.

“You know.”

“Well, if you don’t say it I’m gonna beat you to asking—”

This seems to zap whatever hesitation Takuma had right out of him, and he cuts in, “Willyoubemygirlfriend?”

“Sorry, what was that?” You know you’ve got a shit-eating grin on your face, but you can’t stop it. “Couldn’t really hear you—”

“Oh my god. Will,” he says slowly, drawing out the word, “You. Be. My. Girlfriend?”

You can see your laugh fanning out before you in a puff of warm air, and you tip your head forward into his chest, grinning. “Yes, Takuma, I would love to be your girlfriend.” You pull back and look up at him, lacing your fingers together. “I was kind of trying to get you alone all week so we could figure out what the fuck was going on. But it worked out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “It worked out.” He reaches up and ruffles your hair, laughing when you go to swat his hand away. “I was trying to get you alone, too,” he admits. “I like spending time with you, Skip. I’m pretty sure you’re the coolest person I’ve met, like, ever.”

“Ever,” you echo. “Those are some pretty lofty expectations to live up to.”

He shrugs. “You meet them all.”

Despite yourself, heat creeps up to your cheeks again.

“That was less scary than I thought it was gonna be,” Takuma confesses. Your phone rings in your pocket, and you glance at it and see Maki’s name sliding across the screen.

“Think that’s my cue.” You plant one last kiss on Takuma’s lips and turn around, throwing a “bye, boyfriend” over your shoulder. You glance back and catch him mid fist-pump, and he sheepishly shoves his hands into his pockets when he realizes you saw.

You’re still wearing his clothes, you realize as you answer your phone. Guess it doesn’t really matter, since they’re your boyfriend’s.

“Hey,” Maki says in your ear. “You comin’ home anytime soon? No rush, but we’re making lunch so we figured we’d ask.” In the background, you can hear Toge singing what you think is a dramatic rendition of Kristoff’s song from Frozen II, but you aren’t entirely certain because none of the words are right.

“Yeah, I’m literally walking through the door in thirty seconds,” you say, and Nobara’s face appears in the kitchen window. She waves excitedly and you raise a hand in return.

“Oh, sick.” The line goes dead as you open the front door. “Hey!” Maki shouts when she hears it click, and you slam it closed against the rush of cool air trying to sneak inside with you.

“Hi!” you call back.

Yuta pokes his head around the corner and grins at you. “Welcome home, our favorite breaking news reporter.”

“I didn’t actually report on anything,” you admit, kicking your shoes off and padding into the kitchen. Toge is somehow balancing cross-legged on one of the high stools, and Maki is making tacos. “Conflict of interest once I realized who it was.”

“Yeah, I saw the article,” Nobara chimes in, glancing up from her phone. “Yikes. Frickin’ Naoya Zenin. What an asshat.”

You snort. What an understatement.

“Hope he rots in jail,” Maki says in a sing-song voice, not even looking up.

“I love family,” Toge says.

You fill your friends in on the crash and the aftermath and Yuji’s wrist, leaving out some of the details about Takuma, because that feels a little invasive. And then Yuta asks the big question: “What about the band?”

“About that,” you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not exactly sure why this makes you so nervous. Maybe it’s just that these are your people, your band, and you all worked so hard and then went down together. It doesn’t seem fair that you get to go back on stage and try again and the rest of them don’t. “So. They asked me to fill in—“

“Yes!” Nobara shouts, pumping a fist in the air. “Oh, that’s so awesome!”

“Well, I didn’t say yes yet—”

“What? Why?” Toge asks incredulously. You laugh, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. Of course they’re okay with it. These are your best friends. They’ll always have your back.

“I wanted to check with you guys,” you say, feeling silly about it now. “Just—I don’t know, to make sure. Since it’s not our band, and I didn’t want you guys to feel like I was, I don’t know, like…”

“Musically cheating?” Maki chuckles. “Skipper, this is great. You should say yes.”

Yuta solemnly puts a hand over his heart. “Avenge us.”

“Thanks, guys.” You grin as you hop up on the counter next to Nobara, pressing your shoulder to hers. “I love y’all.”

“Sap,” Maki says, which means love you too.

—

Using a drum set that isn’t yours is always a weird experience. You feel like everything is just ever so slightly off, and Yuji’s kit is an absolute patchwork of different brands of heads and shells and cymbals. You have to lower the stool because he’s taller than you. But it’s just for rehearsal, at least—you can use your own kit at The Fix.

It’s your first time in the shabby basement of Takuma’s house, and it looks distinctly different than your own. They’ve pinned old rugs to the walls as a type of sound deadener, not dissimilar to your own setup, but their lighting is a collection of Facebook marketplace floor lamps and a little disco ball that’s apparently Yuji’s. Your basement has string lights and a bunch of stools and beanbags, and this one has extra blankets all over the floor where Yuji and Kirara have made themselves at home.

Learning Shibuya Incident’s songs isn’t difficult—you’ve heard enough of their music to anticipate what’s coming, and Yuji’s there to give you pointers. Their three-song set for the final performance isn’t actually done, because they don’t feel like they have a good enough finisher, and after you’ve run the first two songs several times you mess around with potential chorus lines.

“What about that?” Kirara says after plucking out a new melody. “It’s hype enough, I think. Or it will be, once we add the rest of you.”

“I like that.” You tap out the rhythm on the snare rim, humming. “You have lyrics?” You look at Takuma, who’s staring at the ceiling like it might have all the answers if he just squints hard enough.

“Somethin’ about, like… losing your head a little bit because you caught feels,” he says. “Like, you’re down so bad you can’t function, to be dramatic about it. That triplet at the beginning of the chorus, Kirara—”

She plucks it out again, down-up-down. “On my own,” Takuma echoes, down-up-down. “Every little move I can’t pin down…”

The words tumble past your lips before you can stop them, because they’ve been circling your head for a week now. “Friends with all the dead in my ghost town.”

He spins around to look at you, a grin spreading across his face. “Yes! It’s like I’m going…”

“Going,” Kirara echoes, and they go back and forth—going, going, “out of my mind!”

“Whoo!” Yuji cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Holy shit. That was crazy.” Takuma grabs the nearest beat-to-hell spiral notebook and starts scribbling.

Megumi starts laying out a bassline, subtly driving the beat forward a little, and you clamp the hat down on two and four to keep time. Kirara comes in with something that must be the verse, and Takuma reads off, “You left in the morning after eight, I got into work two hours late, I can’t see the sun without your face.” Bass, bass, bass. Megumi nods along and Yuji is practically dancing from his spot on the floor.

“One day and I run fresh out of light…”

Hm. You add, “Twelve hours without your hand in mine.”

“I’m dizzy and overworked and tired,” Kirara sings lowly. All three of you sing the chorus again, and you feel just like you’re at home in your own basement, writing a song in real time with Nobara and Maki and the boys.

“Oh, that slaps,” Takuma practically shouts. “Jesus. We’re gonna win.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Megumi warns, a wry quirk to his lips.

Kirara glances at her phone. “Food’s here. Break time, freaks.” She bounds up the stairs and Megumi follows to help her grab the bags—you DoorDashed Taco Bell, since Yuji never got his beloved crunch wrap on Friday.

You leave your sticks on the snare and move around the drum set, flopping down on the ground beside Takuma. “You’re good at that,” you tell him honestly, pulling the notebook away to read what he’s writing down. I met you across the darkened stage, you shook up my life, you got me made, you’re drivin’ me crazy night and day.

You can’t help thinking of the night you met him, locking eyes while he sang from the edge of the low stage at The Fix, lit up by purple-red stage lights and putting you in a trance. You scribble a few more lines after his and hand the pen back.

“You’re a poet,” he tells you, and you laugh.

“I’m a journalist.”

“Woman of many talents,” he says, echoing Maki’s words from that first night you met.

“Itadori!” Kirara shouts down the stairs.

“Coming!” Yuji leaps up and disappears up the rickety basement staircase, leaving you and Takuma alone.

“Hey,” he says, tapping the pen on the page. You glance up at him, nodding for him to keep going. “Can I take you out? Like, on an actual date?”

Something light and quick kicks around in your chest, a hummingbird loose in your ribcage. “I would not be opposed,” you say, as if the idea doesn’t make you want to kick your feet like a little kid. “When are you thinking?”

“Mm, you’re in night class prison tomorrow,” he says, tapping the pen against his lip now. “Tuesday?”

It shouldn’t make you so irrationally happy that he remembers your schedule, but logic seems to go out the window where Takuma Ino is concerned. “Tuesday’s good. Where do you wanna go?”

He shakes his head adamantly, tapping you on the nose with his pen. “Leave it to me.”

—

The only things Takuma’s told you about your date tonight are dress warm and bring your board. He meets you outside your place at four, his bag definitely bulkier than usual, his own skateboard under one foot.

You’re wearing a denim jacket over a hoodie and your favorite cargo pants with your boots, and you tucked a beanie and gloves into your bag just in case, but it’s surprisingly balmy out for late October. The wind is the worst of it.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Takuma says when you coast down the driveway and come to a stop beside him. The greeting makes you blush as much as his smile does, and he chuckles as he pushes off. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Crazy,” he says. You roll your eyes. Sounds like the kind of dad joke Yuta would make.

“Well, then.” The two of you make your way down the street and around the bend, and you realize he’s taking you to the skate park. But at the entrance he keeps going, around the pit and a few of the ramps and to the largest one, back in the corner—not the one Sukuna deals under, but the one opposite. And you stop in your tracks, your longboard making a protesting schkk under your feet, when you see it.

Battery-powered string lights loop around the posts and down the underside of the ramp, and blankets and pillows are spread out across the ground. The area is sheltered from the worst of the wind, and you know your jaw is hanging open a little as you watch Takuma unload his bag—JBL speaker, two thermoses, and a bunch of food.

“Takuma,” you say, not knowing what other words suffice. “I—oh my god.” You did not peg him as being this romantic.

Then you think about his song lyrics and think maybe you should have.

He grins at you from where he’s sat down on the blankets, holding out one of the thermoses. You leave your board by one of the poles and sit down beside him, taking it and letting the warmth seep into your hands. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Mm.” You scoot closer to him, staring up at the layers and layers of graffiti and marker art covering the underside of the ramp. “This is maybe the sweetest thing ever.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” You take a sip of the hot chocolate—still warm. “It’s romantic. Big fan.”

“Really?” He points to where somebody drew a dick on the far side of the ramp.

“Okay, well, you didn’t have to point it out,” you smirk. “You ever done graffiti?” Looking at his mischievous smile and the beanie tugged over his head, the skateboard abandoned a few feet away, he does look like the type.

“Tagging?” He shrugs. “No. I would, though. Maybe we should.”

You hum, staring up at the arcing bubble letters and jagged black lines all over the ramp. You think you’d be horrible at graffiti, but you’ve always appreciated it, the way it sends a message and doesn’t ask for anything in return.

“This is like… alternative aesthetic stargazing,” you muse, lifting a finger and tracing the sharp lines of one of the illegible words in the air. You could stare at all this art for hours and never find all the intricacies of it.

Takuma digs around in his bag and produces a Sharpie with an “aha!”

“You’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie?”

He throws it at you and you catch it in one hand, instinctively twirling it like a drumstick. “We’re gonna graffiti with a Sharpie,” he corrects.

And so you do.

The nearest part of the wall is covered in bright pink paint outlined in black, and it takes you a moment of squinting and tilting your head to realize it says LEAVEYOURMARK. Seems as clear of an instruction as any. So you do—scooting forward, you start to draw flowers into the thick bands of pink lettering, and soon they’re shifting to music notes, percussion notation, aimless squiggles. Takuma queues up a laid-back playlist with a few artists you recognize and many more you don’t, and you pass the pen back and forth, adding tiny notes to messages around the ramp, doodling in the empty space.

You’ve been on dates before, but this feels wholly different. With Takuma, you’re not stressing over conversation starters, worrying about commitment, wondering if you picked the right outfit, trying to gauge your shared interests with carefully planned questions. It’s just easy, existing with him like this.

After a while, you’re on your back in the mess of pillows and blankets, staring directly up at the massive painting of a skateboard with a face. Takuma is drawing something on the wall behind you.

Squinting, the green streaks under the skateboard look like that loss meme Toge sends you at least twice a week. You take a photo with the intention of showing it to him later, though maybe you shouldn’t—he gets way too proud of himself for versing you in what he calls Reddit culture.

You crane your neck to see what Takuma’s drawing and find the thick, dark strokes of a city skyline, towers and domes and boxy apartment buildings.

“Artsy,” you tell him, smiling when he appears in your line of vision upside-down. “You sure about this computer science thing? You’re too creative.”

“That’s what my mom said,” he chuckles, capping the Sharpie and sitting down beside you. As you sit up, he leans back on his hands and glances over at you. “I told her about you. She’d love you. I mean, I’m pretty sure she already does.” He hesitates. “Is that weird? Too soon?”

“No,” you grin. “I—that’s really sweet, actually. I would love to meet your mom.” Your gaze softens at the relieved smile that crosses his face. “Gotta thank her for raising a guy like you, anyway.”

You realize you want Takuma to meet your family too—you want to show him all the corners of your too-small town, show him the place you grew up. It made you who you are—it led you here, to him, after all.

“So,” you say, tilting your head. “When you say you wanna be a producer. Where do you mean? Like, LA?”

He shrugs. “Probably. But I’m sure it’s more competitive there than anywhere else. I feel like the major hubs are there and New York, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere quieter, either.” He loops an arm around you, and your head finds its way to his shoulder. “What about you, world-class journalist?”

You grin, thinking of all the places you haven’t been, all the places you want to go. “Anywhere and everywhere. I just wanna see it all. I wanna travel.”

“You should!” He sounds genuinely excited about the concept, and you lift your head, taking in the expression on his face—he looks the way he did when he was talking about making an EP, like the world is full of possibilities and he wants to see them all play out. “You’d be so good at it. Being a travel writer or international correspondent or whatever.” He clears his throat. “I read some of your stuff, y’know.”

“What?” Suddenly you’re racking your brain for every piece you’ve published in the JU Journal, overly critical of your own work in hindsight. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s good. Really good, Skip, seriously.” He reaches out and tugs a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, and you find yourself leaning into the contact.

You aren’t sure what to say, so you settle on a soft, “Thank you.” Somehow, the idea of Takuma going out of his way to read your work feels personal on the same level that writing a song together does. Taking in your words, your ideas, internalizing them. What is intimacy if not that intellectual exchange?

“I think you’re going to be a really good producer.” It’s his turn to blush. “I mean it. Not everyone has the perspective for it, or the ear. But you do.”

“Ah, well, I—”

“Am not good at taking compliments?” you cut him off, raising a brow. “Mm, we’ll fix that.” He laughs, and you’re leaning in to kiss him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s late October, and you are not the least bit cold.

—

Your hands need to stop sweating before you lose a drumstick or something.

Shibuya Incident has about twenty minutes before you’re all due on stage for the finals, and The Fix is alive with students and lights and drinks and music and chatter. You’re out on the floor tonight, off to the side for easy access to the stage once Black Flash clears out.

“We’re kicking off with the reigning champions of the Battle of the Bands,” Panda booms, throwing an arm out as the band takes the stage. “You know ‘em, you love ‘em, they’re every genre and no genre, covers and originals, brass and wind. Give it up for Black Flash!”

You whoop just as loud as anyone else here, grinning at Nobara’s animated cheering from closer to the center of the floor. Miwa walks right up to the mic and takes it off the stand, the neck of her white electric in her other hand. “Hey, folks!” She brushes her bright blue hair out of her face and shouts, “Y’all ready to hear some good music?”

She has the sort of infectious enthusiasm that could work on pretty much anyone, and before you know it you and Kirara are spinning each other around to the beat of a synth-heavy pop song that sounds like it came straight out of the 80s. The instrumentals are simple but tight, and Miwa jumps around, engaging the crowd, belting like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“They’re good,” you catch Megumi saying lowly, probably to Yuji, but Takuma’s the one who answers.

“If I tell you the power of friendship will lead us to victory—”

“No.”

“Well, okay, you’re no fun.”

Kirara turns around and plants a hand on her hip, looking at Megumi. “Fushiguro, we’re fine. We’re going out with a badass new single and not one but two percussionists. We’ve never sounded this good.”

“Just being the token pessimist,” he sighs, cracking a reluctant half-smile. “I know we’re good.”

Yuji elbows him playfully. “Mr. Realist.”

Black Flash segues into a second track, an ABBA cover that has you dancing without thinking, and Takuma catches your eye and grins, moving along with you. And all too soon it’s over, a third song come and gone, and Panda’s back up on stage and the five of you are hopping up over the side to make your way to your places. Hakari and another tech have already swapped out the kits, and you settle yourself in the comfort of your own throne, your own pedals, flipping on the snare and pounding the kick a few times.

Yuji’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning at you. “You got this,” he mouths, shaking his tambourine at you.

You truly have no idea where he got a tambourine.

“What happened in Shibuya? Who the hell knows?” Panda shouts, riling up the crowd. “Give it up for Shibuya Incident!”

That’s your cue. You look at Kirara, who nods with a conspiratorial smile, and then Megumi, who plucks out a few notes in answer. Yuji’s already giving you a grin and a thumbs-up. And Takuma… he’s already stepped into his on-stage confidence, all relaxed, easygoing performer, and the look he gives you has energy coursing through your fingertips like an electric shock.

You hold your sticks above your head, clicking them loud on the lower end of the shaft, and shout, “One, two, three, four!”

You are alive.

The first track is another pulled from their EP, and you’ve listened to it probably an embarrassing number of times—you know Yuji’s part down to the sixteenth note, the roll, the rest, but you don’t hesitate to put your own spin on it, and he’s alight with the same energy beside you, messing around with a tambourine and a few other aux instruments near a mic of his own, since he’s also doing backup vocals tonight.

Your hands are moving fast, your feet pumping the pedals of their own accord, an instinct, and it’s over before you know it, a sheen of sweat already forming under the stage lights. You grin, catching your breath, wiping your hands on your jeans as Takuma introduces the band.

From your place near the back of the stage, you get more of the low feedback than anything else, but you definitely hear when he says Shibuya Incident and the crowd responds raucously in kind.

“That’s Kirara Hoshi on guitar and vocals,” he says, pointing to her as she does her little riff.

“Yeah, Kira!” You have no idea where Hakari’s voice is coming from, but it’s unmistakable.

“We got Fushiguro back there on the bass,” Takuma continues, and Megumi gives the crowd an unbothered nod, showing off his own instrument for a moment. “Itadori’s back here on aux and vocals.” He pauses to let the crowd shout for Yuji and then adds, “And filling in for him on kit, we’ve got the legendary drummer from Cursed Technique. Everyone give it up for Skipper!”

You do a quick roll, laughing as your own band goes crazy—you can’t see them in the glare of the lights, but you (and everyone else) can definitely hear them.

“I’m Ino, we’re Shibuya Incident, and this next one’s gonna slow things down a little.”

This one starts with Megumi, a laid-back track with a similar vibe to the first song you ever heard Shibuya Incident perform, but a little smoother. It’s over before you know it, and then you and Kirara are launching into the new single. Even Yuji looks like he’s having the time of life on backup vocals.

“On my own,” he and Kirara harmonize, Takuma taking the lead, and you nail the next two lines with punchy cymbal-tom hits, “all the shadows look like a death threat, everybody’s waitin’ to get hit, it’s like I’m going (going) going (going) out of my mind!”

All your worries melt away as the beat drives your movements. You’re not thinking about dropping a drumstick, missing a measure, losing the competition. You’re doing what you love with people you love, and that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Think I’m seein’ double in one eye, startin’ to think this air is spiked, no one told me that’s what love is like.” Takuma lets the guitar hang and grips the mic in one hand and the stand in the other, leaning with it as he engages the crowd, and you definitely hear Nobara screaming. “You got me going (going) going (going) out of my mind, yeah, yeah.”

It’s over so fast you can barely breathe, and you’re laughing before you know what’s happening, Yuji throwing his arm around you and shouting, “You killed it!”

Takuma turns around and locks eyes with you, and you see that same adrenaline high in his gaze that you know is in yours, and when the band stumbles off stage in Panda’s wake, he grabs your hand and pulls you into a hug. “That was crazy!” he practically shouts, which is probably good, because your ears are ringing so much you probably wouldn’t have heard him otherwise.

“Guys,” Megumi says, deadpan as always, but you can see the effects of the performance even on him, his usually stoic expression unable to mask his own excitement. “I think… we might have a shot.”

“Holy shit,” Kirara says. “Skip, write the story. Resident pessimist breaks vow of negativity—”

“Oh, shut up.” Megumi elbows her as she dissolves into laughter. In the wings, you can hear the indistinct sounds of Panda’s instructions as he starts voting, and music kicks up over the speakers. Ten minutes. Ten minutes.

It’s the longest and shortest wait of your life, and then you’re back on stage with Black Flash and Panda, and it’s fucking time.

You wonder if everyone else can hear your blood roaring, too.

“Once again, an insanely tight vote,” Panda says, a hush falling over the crowd as they wait for the verdict. “Phenomenal performances from both of our final bands, but someone’s gotta win. Give it up for the champions of this year’s Battle of the Bands…”

You imagine Maki hissing under her breath for Panda to hurry it up, Nobara’s hands clasped together as she anxiously bounces on the balls of her feet, Yuta biting his lip and trying to get Toge to shut up.

Takuma’s hand is on your shoulder, Yuji on your other side, Megumi and Kirara behind you. You glance at Miwa, and she gives you a knowing look that you can’t interpret.

You almost don’t hear it.

“SHIBUYA INCIDENT!”

You don’t know which screams belong to who—maybe one of them’s yours—but you’re swept into a massive pile of musicians drunk off victory, and you’re laughing, and Miwa’s jumping up and down and saying how that was insane, guys, you were amazing, and even Mai nods at you in congratulations, and Yuji is abruptly on Todo’s shoulders, and as the stage lights turn down a bit you finally catch sight of your own band, losing their minds on the floor.

“That’s our girl!” Maki hollers, and Yuta whoops as Toge pumps a fist in the air. You realize you can’t see Nobara, and two seconds later your questions are answered when she somehow materializes on the stage, launching herself at you with a massive grin on her face.

“You did it!” she shouts. “Holy shit, Skipper!”

Everything around you is chaos and laughter and noise, but something in the center of your being is incredibly still, and you think maybe it’s contentment. In this moment, you would ask for nothing else. It is perfect.

Nobara detaches herself from you after more profuse congratulations, turning to Miwa, and the bands make their way gradually off stage. Takuma’s hand is in yours—you don’t know when that happened—and he pulls you past the band, past the wings, all the way into the drum storage room backstage.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says. “You’re fucking amazing.” His beanie is off, tucked into his pocket, his hair as wild as his eyes as wild as your heart.

You close the door.

It’s a pulse. That’s the only way you can describe it, the rush of living energy that comes with kissing Takuma Ino behind the stage of a shitty campus bar, the heat shooting through your veins in time with the throb of the bass from distant speakers. Breath on your teeth and hands in your hair, the warmth in your gut from skin-on-skin proximity, ears ringing with the sound of your name on his lips and love-blind eyes, you’re alive and addicted to a feeling you know you’ll chase forever.

—

TWO MONTHS LATER. DECEMBER 19.

The house is alive with laughter and chatter and Michael Bublé’s Christmas album spinning from the record player. The semester is over, and tomorrow you’ll scatter for winter break, home for the holidays. Nobara insisted on throwing a party before all the inevitable road trips and flights, and the main floor is strung with multicolored lights and tinsel—Yuta’s plant, Rika, even has a tiny Santa hat on.

In addition to the actual residents of the house, Takuma and the band are here, as well as Hakari, Panda, Tsumiki, Miwa, and a handful of other friends. Megumi’s even brought the dogs, who have both taken a liking to the loveseat by the window and claimed it as their own. You’ve informed Megumi that they’re going to stay here with you forever (he said no, but you don’t take orders from him).

“Okay, I’m dropping you off at ten, right?” Yuta quadruple-checks. You’re huddled in the kitchen with him and Maki—Toge was here a minute ago, but he heard someone in the living room mention Just Dance and ran off to assert his dominance or whatever.

“Oh my god, yes,” Maki answers for you. “Yuta. You wrote it down. It’s in your calendar. You live in the same house as Skip, you’re not gonna forget.” She bumps her shoulder with his and he sighs in admission.

“I know.” He smiles at you. “Just gotta make sure she gets home for the holidays. Can’t have you turning into a sad Christmas cliché on us, Skip.”

You salute him with half a gingerbread cookie. “Appreciate it.” He’s taking you to the airport tomorrow for your flight home and refuses to take your gas money, so you’re already planning on beating him to paying for the first grocery run when you get back.

“Things with Mai are good?” you ask, glancing at Maki. She shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t correct you, which is a good sign. She and her sister met up the week after the Battle of the Bands for coffee, which you genuinely thought was a joke when she told you about it. They’re both going home for Christmas and have apparently decided to try and like each other a little more openly. And she actually showed up tonight, which you have to admit you weren’t entirely expecting.

“Yuta!” Toge hollers from the other room. “You have to come do Rasputin with me!”

Yuta groans, looking pleadingly at Maki like she can get him out of this, but she just grins. “You heard him.”

“You hate me.”

“Yeah,” Maki says fondly. Yuta, defeated, goes to join Toge in the dance of death. Maki whispers to you that she’s going to record it for blackmail and slips out after him.

Tsumiki appears beside you, drink in hand, and leans against the wall. She tilts her phone screen toward you and you see it’s the Journal website analytics.

The top story right now is yours. You grin. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize.”

“I expected it,” she admits, tucking her phone back in her pocket and gazing out across the room. “Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you. We won’t start the application process until spring sem, but, if you want it,” she glances at you, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “I really think you should apply for editor-in-chief, Skip.”

Your mouth opens and closes without anything of use coming out, and Tsumiki laughs. “You don’t have to, but—”

“No!” you blurt, grinning. “I—I want to. I would love to. I was planning on it. I just didn’t know you… wanted me to.” Kusakabe’s just the advisor—when it comes to actually hiring the next editor, Tsumiki has the final say. Her endorsement is as good as a job offer. “I… thank you, Tsumiki.” You look down, suddenly overwhelmed by the words. “Big shoes to fill.”

“Aw, none of that,” she says, stealing a cookie from the tray on the counter next to you. “I literally can’t think of anyone better.” With a wink, she disappears through the doorway, where Kirara and Nobara are talking animatedly. Nobara gestures to you when she catches your eye.

“Dude, our listens are shooting up!” she says, shoving her phone into your hands. Your EP dropped mid-November, six tracks recorded in the studio with Takuma and Hakari, and you’ve performed better than you ever expected. The analytics show a sharp uptick that’s probably in large part due to Panda playing your stuff on the radio station.

You whistle, leaning on Nobara’s shoulder. “Awesome.”

Kirara leans against the wall, considering. “You guys thought about what you’re gonna do next year?”

Truthfully, you’ve really tried not to. The idea of Maki and Yuta graduating is so bittersweet. But graduation means Shibuya Incident will have a hole in their band, too. Kirara will be gone.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Nobara muses. “We could join forces. If we lose Maki and Yuta and Kirara, the only thing we’re doubled up on is drums and lead.”

It’s not a bad idea. And if Yuji is track captain next year and you get that editor job, neither of you will have as much time for the band—switching off could actually be very helpful. You hum, considering. You’ll have to talk to the others.

“Oi,” Kirara says, reaching out to poke you with a socked foot. “Your boyfriend’s in lost puppy mode over there.” You glance into the living room to see Takuma scanning the room next to Megumi and the dogs, probably looking for you.

“Dumbass,” you say fondly, and nod goodbye to Nobara and Kirara before making your way over to him. The boys are halfway through Rasputin and Yuta is, much to Toge’s chagrin, kicking ass. Toge looks like he’s just run a half marathon.

Takuma lights up when he sees you, a mischievous smile appearing on his face as he intercepts you by the hall entrance.

“Oh, wow, what is that?” he asks cheekily, and tilts your chin up to see a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. That was definitely Nobara’s doing. “Crazy that we just happened to—”

You cut him off, dragging him in by the shirt and kissing him, and makes a surprised sound that has you smiling against his lips.

“Crazy,” you repeat after you pull back, relishing the flush on his cheeks. Even after dating him for two months (as of today), every reaction you get out of Takuma makes your heart rate bump up a few beats. “Oh!” he says, suddenly remembering something. “Wait, c’mere, I have something for you.”

“Takuma!” You swat at him. “I told you not to—”

“Boo hoo,” he says, sticking his tongue out and dragging you toward your room, where he dumped his stuff earlier. You quietly close the door behind you as Takuma digs around his bag, standing up with his hands behind his back. “It’s Christmas and it’s been two months. You have no defense. Close your eyes.”

You do, giggling a little as he grabs your hand and presses something into it—something soft. “Okay,” he says, and you open your eyes to see a little stuffed penguin perched in the palm of your hand. It’s fucking adorable.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “Oh, he’s so cute! Takuma.” You cradle the penguin to your chest with both hands, grinning.

“It’s you!” he says, laughing. “Not official Madagascar merch, but I thought it was pretty cute. Your own lil’ Skipper.”

“I love it,” you say, making the penguin do a little dance in the air. You grab its tiny wing and poke Takuma on the nose with it. “Thank you.”

“Merry early Christmas.” His nose scrunches up a little in thought. “Early Merry Christmas? What’s the right way to say that?”

“Happy early nondenominational holiday of your choice,” you say teasingly, because the public university won’t actually say Christmas despite the decorations all around campus.

It’s a running joke among the entirety of the student body that the massive tree in the arts lobby is not a Christmas tree but a secular modern art installation. There are variations of insane alternate tree names on the school meme accounts. The knockoff JU Barstool page even got in on it, and the student groups hosting the Hanukkah and Kwanzaa celebrations.

Takuma’s answering laugh is bright and it follows you as you cross the room to your desk, pulling a box out of the second drawer. “Your turn.”

“What?” He has the audacity to look confused. “Skip—”

You hold up the penguin. “Objection denied!” The box is light and square, and you watch excitedly as he opens it.

“Oh my god,” he says when he realizes what’s inside. “No way. These are the exact ones—how did you even—?”

You had to do some investigating to figure out the precise guitar strings he uses, but what's your journalism degree for if not this?

“Who knows?” You shrug playfully. “Maybe it’s the psychic powers, maybe it’s the housemate I begged to sneak into your room and find out.”

Kirara was more than willing. “Good thing you came to me and not Itadori,” she laughed. “That kid can’t be subtle to save his life.” Takuma’s strings have been on the brink for a while, and you’re honestly shocked none of them have given out yet.

“They’re perfect,” Takuma laughs, setting the box back on your desk. “I love them. I love you.”

He says it so easily it takes you a moment to realize what just happened. He freezes, mouth opening and closing like he doesn’t know what words he’s looking for.

“I—uh,” he says eloquently. “It’s—I mean. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I didn’t mean to say it like that but I did mean it, you don’t have to say it back, if it’s too soon or you—”

Instead of cutting him off verbally, you grab him by the shoulders and press your lips to his. His eyes are wide when you pull back, despite the way he relaxed into the kiss on instinct.

“Hey,” you laugh, one hand trailing up to the back of his neck. “I love you, too.”

The excited smile that spreads across his face is slow and hesitant, like he can’t believe you reciprocate. You pull him back in and feel his grin against your lips, his hands coming to rest at your waist, warm.

“Thank god,” he murmurs between breaths. “Because I keep almost accidentally saying it, and it was gonna happen sooner or later.”

“Least it didn’t happen over the phone,” you grin, your hand skating down his arm and coming to rest in his.

Sheepishly, he admits, “Almost did. Yesterday.” Your laugh is bright and so is his answering one, and you perch your little stuffed penguin atop the guitar strings and tug Takuma toward the door.

“Okay, lover boy. Back to the outside world.”

“Lover boy, huh?” he teases. “Kay, pretty girl.”

“Couple of cheesy ass romantics we are.”

“Mm.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the action so casual and unthinking you want to melt. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The second you step back into the living room, Yuta grabs you by the elbow and presses a Wii remote into your hand.

“Oh, no. Yuta—”

The song’s been chosen for you, and Toge has passed the remote to Maki, who looks like she’d rather die than give a rousing performance of TiK ToK by Ke$ha.

“Well, at least it’s you,” she says. Toge tries to discreetly pull his phone out, but Maki gives him a death glare that could send a grown man to his grave. He nearly drops it in his hurry to shove it back into his pocket.

You snort, patting Maki sympathetically on the shoulder. “Let’s kick ass.”

Three hours later, everyone has somewhat settled down, sprawled across furniture and countertops and the carpeted floor. Yuta’s grabbed an acoustic from the basement and it’s being passed around, goofy Christmas songs overlapping with the still-spinning record player.

You enrolled here with the intention of building a new life, finding a new purpose—new faces, new music, a new place to call home. And you feel like you’ve found it. This is the point of college. You’re surrounded by the best people you’ve ever known, and your heart is practically overflowing with how much you fucking love them all.

After all, your heart is not a finite thing. You’ve just got an endless supply of affection, and you’re not scared of it.

Love is the right word, you think, letting your head fall onto Takuma’s shoulders, legs tucked up beneath you on the couch.

“I love you,” you whisper, just to say it. When he whispers your name, your real name, in the shell of your ear, something in your chest sparks a little. He makes it sound like a song.

“I love you, too.”

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@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222 @honeyyhuggs

a/n: that’s a wrap on out of my mind! ahh! i loved this one a lot, and it has so much spinoff potential i’m going a little crazy with it—keep an eye out for the megumi spinoff dropping soon. if you want to be alerted when it drops, lmk and i’ll put you on the jjk taglist. also, greta wrote a sukuna spinoff here—go read!

@bitchkay i need you to know your reblog tags give me life and you were fucking RIGHT ON THE MONEY with these developments

i’m not sure if i’ll start writing other fandoms or not—if y’all would want to see attack on titan or blue lock do let me know!