#kento angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonlover1110 · 1 year ago

Note

Please please please write an angst of doctor nanami cheating on reader with a random nurse

Pairing: Kento Nanami x gn!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Cheating

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

*slowly working on requests! They're still closed so don't send anything in

Your husband often works long hours, but as an ER doctor it was expected. The day you started dating Kento, he made it very clear that he works a lot. He’s called in unexpectedly, and while it might seem like he has the day off, he could be called in. You were more than okay with it.

You often feel lonely while Kento works, especially at night. In the beginning you didn’t mind it but you grow lonelier each day. You wonder if you’ve made the right decision by getting married to him. You weren’t made to be so lonely– But whenever you’re thinking of leaving and starting over, he’s off for a day or two, and he reminds you why you’re with him.

He’s so sweet when he’s back around. He gets you flowers, does all the chores that you hate (because he knows that you hate it and he wants to keep you happy), he watches a movie that you like even if he wants to watch something else, and he cooks your favorite food. He’s so affectionate, so loving. He wants you to know that you’re his perfect wife.

Of course you believe it, why wouldn’t you? Kento has only given you reasons to trust him. You believe his every word, trying to avoid thinking about any thought that makes you doubt your husband.

He’s called in on your anniversary. He had the day off but things didn’t go your way. However, you had a backup plan because you had an idea this would happen. He’s working now more than ever so of course you had a backup plan.

You wear your pretty little dress, holding a bag with Kento’s favorite food. You also have a box of his favorite chocolate, and a small gift. You wander into the hospital, and the staff already knows you well so you don’t have an issue getting through.

Majority of the staff knows your plan since you called around. You’re simply just having a romantic dinner– Well as romantic as it can be in a hospital break room. You’re smiling, walking confidently through the hospital hallways. You’re right on Kento’s break, and everyone else assured you that he’d be alone.

When you open the break room’s door, you see that you’ve been lied to. Your heart drops and shatters into a million pieces, the bag that’s in your hand slipping away and falling to the ground. Your eyes widen and they fill with tears. You can’t believe the sight in front of you, your husband’s lips on another woman, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t going to stop with kissing.

You freeze in time, watching your loving husband with someone else. You’re simply shocked. Kento wouldn’t do this to you… Not him. That can’t be your husband. Your hands are shaking, your heart feeling as if it’s about to beat out of your chest. The tears finally begin to spill, and there’s a lump in your throat that holds back a sob.

No– Kento Nanami wouldn’t. Two other doctors must’ve gotten confused because your husband would never do this to you. You wipe the tears and you swallow the lump in your throat, shaking your head. It’s clearly not your husband. You clear your throat, “Sorry, I must’ve–”

He pulls away, alert. You see his face, and your heart breaks all over again. Even if you try to delude yourself, it won’t work. The woman is also staring at you but you aren’t all too focused on her; you don’t care about her.

He yells out your name as you turn on your heel and begin to walk away. He’s trying to run after you, but you’re walking as fast as you can.

“Please! Let me explain!” He yells and you try to block out his voice but it’s hard when he sounds so desperate. He does eventually catch up to you, grabbing your arm. You try to break free from his grasp but it’s too strong. You refuse to look at him, wanting to keep hidden the tears that stream down your face. “Honey, let’s talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Kento.” You try to sound as normal as you can even when your voice threatens to break. He still refuses to let go. “Let go of me, I never want to see you again.”

“Can we just talk please? Privately?” He asks, and you take a moment to think. He’s not going to let you go so easily, even if you want to leave. You’ll make it fast. You finally turn to look at him, and while you try to act tough, it’s impossible when you look at his face. The man that you love to the moon and back betrayed you. He’s someone that you wanted to grow old with, to have children with. You gave him your all, however, that doesn’t seem to be enough for him.

“On our anniversary? Really?” You respond, and it feels as if his voice has been taken from him. You wipe your tears before crossing your arms. You have to look away from him. “I thought you’d never do this to me, Kento. I really thought you were the one.”

He bites down his lip, he really doesn’t know what to say. For a minute you stand in complete and utter silence.

“Are you going to say anything?” You ask, and he’s scrambling for words. He comes up with nothing. You end up nodding before walking away. You hear him again,

“Honey, wait!”

Just this time, he doesn’t run after you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami #nanamin #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami angst #kento angst #jjk kento #kento x reader

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califwhite · 5 months ago

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Everything is in its right place.

Nanami Kento angst Inspired by Everything In Its Right Place By Radiohead

WC: 500 TW: Vomit, anxiety, heartbreak, angst, death y all the very very bad things..

There was a Japanese myth which Kento introduced to you the day he proposed. He was never much of a mythology buff, but he admitted that your presence in his life gave him a reason to believe it was true. A thin red string tied to the two pinkies of two individuals which the gods had predestined to be together. It was nostalgic, the shaking of his ordinarily steady voice as he explained that the red string twisted and turned, but could never be cut or broken. Everything was in its right place, that was, until it wasn't. His face contorted in pain and the little red thread which was once taught, gave in and laxed to your feet.

Bile bubbled up in your throat, as you shot up in bed. Your once sleep-rotted consciousness festered with the images of your beloved choking on his own blood. Feet hitting the cold wood floor, you rushed to the toilet to heave the bitter liquid out of your mouth. Your stomach twisted and contorted, ringing out chunks of steak and rice and the bottle of sauvignon blanc you finished yourself. All remnants of the dinner you were supposed to have with your fiance until he told you off the unexpected assignment he had to take on.

The cold bite of porcelain on your skin did nothing to soothe the shakes that racked your body paired with the anxiety that had you filling its cup. Each heave felt like a flash of your past before your eyes, grieving the future that would never come. Though your mind ceased to find the reason for this all-consuming reaction, an eerily absolute feeling of horror stirred in your gut. On knocking knees, you stood, walking slowly to your phone to hopefully soothe your nerves. You jabbed your fingers into the screen, pulling up his location. Shibuya… You hurriedly reached for the remote and turned on the news. More bile began twisting out of your throat as you saw the ruins the city was in. Buildings creaked and groaned as they fell, bodies everywhere, the reporter screaming for people to try and seek refuge far from the city.

The door to your shared bedroom groaned. For a second relief flooded you as you walked forward, a pale hand pushing in with your husband’s tie wrapped around its fist. Everything was okay, he was alive…

Yuji looked at you wide-eyed, tear trails cleared on his face through the muck of caked-on blood. There was only one reason he’d be here.

“I tried.” He moaned your name in pain. “He asked for you before he went..”

You felt your eyes roll back, your head lulling to the side, the air rushing against your body as you dropped towards the ground and everything went black. The string will stretch and tangle, but never break.

Please consider liking and reblogging! Dont steal pls Boarder by the lovely: @saradika

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moncher-ire · 25 days ago

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i liked ONE nanami post. ONE.. WHY IS MY FOR YOU FILLED WITH NANAMI?.

#yuzuyaps #silly #nanmi kento #jjk kento #jjk #jujusu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #im tweaking #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #kento smut #kento fluff #nanami angst #kento angst

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kentochronicles · 2 months ago

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The Way We Turned Out

Nanami Kento x Reader

A/N: hey guys, this is the 2nd part to ‘The Way We Were’ and I cried whilst writing this cause I was also doing a s2 rewatch. I like to torture myself 🥲 italics are flashbacks - pls enjoy and my plan is to write a part 3 of a much happier ending. Also ty for your patience with me, still learning the ins and outs of tumblr layout and such.

Word count: 1140 words

Genre: angst, slight comfort??? I love Nanami sm and love angst, so here this is 🙃

(He’s so pretty, I legit have a tattoo of this man)

Tagging: @empower-bi-women again, Ilysm my wife, ty for reading this before I posted it and the feedback 🩵🩵🩵

Sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. You stirred, feeling the softness of the sheets and the quiet presence beside you. As your eyes blinked open, you found Nanami lying there, his gaze already on you, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still soft with sleep. There was something relaxed about him in the early light—like the weight he always seemed to carry had lifted, if only for a moment.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice quiet, as though anything louder would shatter the serene spell around you both.

He reached over, his hand warm as it brushed your arm, a gentle touch that felt like a promise. You lay there in comfortable silence, just soaking in each other’s presence, neither of you needing words. Outside, the world was waking up, but in here, everything was still.

After a moment, he sighed, a contented sound that made you smile. “You’re… different,” he said thoughtfully, his fingers tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I didn’t expect someone to feel like this—a mix of calm and chaos.”

You laughed softly, understanding exactly what he meant. Being with him felt like balancing between two worlds: the intensity that had drawn you together and the quiet, gentle peace that held you close now.

He brushed a kiss to your forehead, then lingered there, as if to savour this simple intimacy. “I could get used to this,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, as though he, too, was discovering the quiet beauty in sharing a morning like this, something so simple yet so rare.

In that moment, with the morning light surrounding you both, you realised that whatever came next, you’d remember this: the quiet sweetness, the closeness, and the feeling of waking up beside him, as if you’d found something you never knew you were searching for.

The days blurred together after the news. The world felt muted, colours duller, sounds faded, as though everything had been drained of life. Every room, every corner seemed to hold some trace of him—a forgotten book on the shelf, the way the light filtered through the window, soft and warm, just like it had on those mornings you’d spent tangled together. The emptiness gnawed at you, relentless, unyielding.

You would catch yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers brushing over his name in your contacts. It was instinct, as if calling him would somehow bring him back, as if he’d answer with that steady, familiar voice that always grounded you. But every time, reality came crashing down, and you were left with nothing but silence.

The promises echoed in your mind, fragments of words spoken in the quiet of those mornings. You could still feel the weight of his hand in yours, the warmth of his touch, as he told you he’d be careful, that he’d come home to you. And you’d believed him because he’d never once let you down before. But life wasn’t fair like that, and the love he’d left behind felt like both a blessing and a curse—something beautiful and precious, yet sharp-edged and painful.

Some nights, you found yourself talking to him in the quiet, as though he might be listening somewhere beyond. You told him about your anger, your grief, the ache he’d left behind. You whispered all the words you hadn’t said, the fears you’d kept hidden, the love you’d wanted to keep sharing.

But other nights, anger took over. The fury of having to say goodbye without a warning, without a chance to prepare, filled you. You wanted to scream, to blame him for his recklessness, for leaving you with all these broken pieces. You hated the world for taking him, hated that he’d left with a promise he could never keep.

Yet, through the anger and grief, there was an ache beneath it all that never went away—a part of you that still clung to those mornings, to the warmth of his voice, to the memory of his hand in yours. Because even if he couldn’t keep his promise, even if he was gone, you would carry him with you. He was etched into your heart, an indelible mark, and though it hurt, you knew you’d keep that part of him with you.

Days passed in a blur, weighed down by an emptiness that seemed to swallow everything. But as you sat alone one evening, staring at the test in your hand, you felt the world shift beneath you. The lines were faint, barely there, but unmistakable. You were carrying a piece of him—a part of Nanami, still with you, still lingering in a way you’d never expected.

The news was overwhelming, a tangled knot of emotions you couldn’t unravel. Tears slipped down your cheeks, an odd mix of grief and something softer, something almost like relief. He was gone, yes, and that wound would never fully heal. But he hadn’t left you entirely. He had left you with a part of himself, something to hold on to in the darkness, something that would be a constant reminder of the love you’d shared.

The emptiness in your heart eased, just a fraction, as you rested a hand on your stomach. You could almost feel his presence beside you, a comforting warmth you hadn’t felt since that final goodbye. It was as if he’d given you this small miracle to remind you that you weren’t alone, that he was still there in a way that couldn’t be taken from you.

The grief remained—sharp and unrelenting, a hollow ache that would take time to soften. But now, there was something more, a flicker of hope amidst the sorrow. You had a part of him with you, a small piece of the love that had meant everything. And though it was bittersweet, you knew that this child would carry his strength, his warmth, and maybe even that quiet, unwavering love he’d always given so freely.

You whispered into the quiet, a promise to carry on, to hold his memory close, and to raise this child knowing the depth of the love that had created them. And as you spoke, you could almost feel his hand in yours, like a gentle reassurance that you weren’t truly alone.

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reiyaus · 14 days ago

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fem reader intended

husband nanami who quit working overtime because he hated seeing you stay up so late- dozing off on the dining table, a warm plate of food waiting for him at 11:37 on a tuesday night.

husband nanami who carries you to bed, making sure you were warm before focusing on getting unready himself. putting your health before his, like always.

husband nanami who make sures to eat the food you’ve prepared for him, appetite or not, because putting your cooking to waste would make him feel even more guilty (if possible).

husband nanami who likes waking up and catching you in the kitchen, dancing to the music while preparing his lunch. sometimes he even sees you taking small samples of his food before stopping yourself from eating the whole thing.

husband nanami who goes to work with his bento inside his bag, staring at it his whole shift and counting the hours until he gets to read what you’ve written him for the day.

husband nanami who stores all your letters inside the first drawer of his desk, rereading them as if they’re motivational quotes on a coffee cup whenever his coworkers and boss start testing his remaining bits of patience.

husband nanami who leaves the office building the moment his shift is over and heads straight to your favorite café, ordering every single one of your favorite pastries- not minding how the number keeps increasing with every beep.

husband nanami who surprises you, freshly out the shower, with a huge bag full of bread you’ve been craving the whole week.

husband nanami who helps you with your post-shower routine while ocassionally feeding you, laughing at how your eyes never left the bag the moment he came home.

husband nanami who makes sure you actually get to sleep before 10 pm, leaving no excuses as he carries you to the bed again, but this time you’re laughing and gripping onto his shoulders.

husband nanami who traps you in his hold, lulling you to sleep as he apologizes for all the times he made you stay up late- sleeping uncomfortably on the table.

husband nanami who gets to sleep another night with your face as the last thing he sees.

and husband nanami who wakes up another morning, with your skin being the first thing he feels.

#© ― bea's #fem reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami fluff #husband nanami #jjk x you #nanami x you #X reader #Fem reader #nanami x fem reader #jjk x fem reader #reader insert #jjk angst

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tojbnuy · 2 months ago

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“baby stop im trying to read”

“what do you mean ma im just getting warm”

toji was in fact not just getting warm. his big calloused palms were currently underneath your (his) shirt fondling your tits. it wasn’t uncommon for toji to have his hands on your breasts as you read before bed. He used them like stress relievers. warm and soft and comforting to the touch. you had your kindle in one hand and the other placed on his head gently rubbing at his scalp as he nosed his way into the crevice of your neck.

“fuck baby you smell so good. you always smell so clean and vanillery.”

that made you smile.

“yeah i know i smell great.”

he laughed at that because yes you did always smell great. god he was so comfortable right now. nothing on the planet could top this for him. with your boobs in his palms toji could overcome anything. his touch became a bit heated and you knew this would soon be escalating. but you weren’t going to be the one giving in, if he wanted you he was going to have to ask. carefully his fingers began to pinch at your nipples and he knew he had you right where he wanted you when you began to mewl at his touch.

“what are you reading about that’s got you like this baby? are you cheating on me?”

“how’s it cheating if i’m reading you buffoon? and you know exactly why.”

he couldn’t help but smile at the easy banter that was so common between the two of you.

“want me to do to you whatever you’re reading about?”

and just as toji began to hike up your shirt with the intention of putting his mouth to work you both heard a slight little patter of feet on the hard wood floor. you couldn’t see anything due to the darkness in the room but you were pretty sure someone was here. toji lifted his head up with his hands still holding your chest under your shirt and craned his neck over the edge of the bed when he felt a little finger pat his shoulder.

“daddy i did sick”

“oh megs for fucks sake.”

authors note: i didn’t expect to receive so much love on this lil drabble! thank you so much lovely people

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hellishattempt · 6 months ago

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gojo's undercut this, gojo's undercut that

why is nobody talking about nanami's undercut

PLEASE SIR I JUST NEED FIVE MINUTES

#nanami kento #kento nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanamin #jjk nanami #jjk #jjk kento #jujutsu nanami #nanami fluff #nanami undercut #nanami angst #nanami smut #i just need to feel his rough undercut

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logoleptic-since-06 · 24 days ago

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Every Corner of This House is Haunted

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Marriage in Crisis, Angst, Reader and Nanami are in their 30s, Not Proofread

Chapter I ■ Chapter II ■ Chapter III ■ Chapter IV ■ Chapter V ■ Chapter VI ■ Chapter VII

The numbness in you deafens the cheers of the crowded halls of the high society party. Your husband’s arm around your waist holds no warmth– it is nothing more than a facade for the world.

It wasn’t always like this, of course. There was a time you meant the world to the man that stands beside you. A time that is now long gone, sure, but never forgotten. The memories of your young love stays locked in a precious vault at the back of your head. And perhaps this vault is the reason you both pretend like everything is alright.

And you cannot lament without guilt. The Vivienne Westwood dress wrapped around you, the millions of dollars worth of a penthouse apartment, and every other luxury that one can only dream of are all handed over to you on a silver platter by him. In return, you turn into the dream trophy wife.

The event tonight is an engagement party. As you gape at the young couple, your mind fills with nostalgia of what you and your husband once were. The way they look at each other– like the world only consists of the love they both share– takes you ten years back in time.

Now, even at the mere age of 34, your eyes hold the liability of an old soul. And when you look into your husband’s, you see a tired individual trapped behind them– maybe desperate to get out, but you're not sure you even know him well enough anymore to be able to tell. That’s the thing about ambition, you suppose, once you start, you always want more.

And for this very reason, your weekly dates turned into monthly, then a few times a year, then only on special occasions. And now, ten years into your marriage, you barely see one another, and the only times you go out together are during events.

The event ends, and you and Kento are driving back to the place you once ever so lovingly called home. The ride is silent, for you speak to him when needed, and he only speaks to you about work. Is it time you open the vault that has memories of years ago locked in? Is the sweetness of the past worth letting your present turn bitter? The questions overflow your mind as you frantically search for the answer. Once you find it, you break the silence.

“I want a divorce.”

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wibben · 2 months ago

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Hanamichi

A life measured in flowers. All of the times in his life in which Nanami received a flower.

↳ warnings: angst, major character death

↳ wc: 3,730

↳ notes: this was a collab with @tsukimefuku over what began as a silly (sad -- very sad) head canon. major credit and props to her, because without her this wouldn't exist! i had a lovely time writing this with you, and i hope we can do it again in the future!

Nanami remembered his mother’s hands, dirt under her fingernails, patient as the earth. Her garden was her temple; she greeted each flower by name, whispered as though they were children needing to be calmed. Nanami, young and fresh-eyed, watched her closely. A solemn boy with hands too small to grasp his mother’s tools, was her loyal shadow. His duty was the simple work – pulling weeds, patting down the dark soil, setting down the watering can at her nod. And when the sun hung high and the garden wore its colors proudly, his mother would offer him a single flower. "One for yourself," she’d say with a wide smile, tucking a loose curl behind her ear beneath the shrouded brim of a drooping sunhat. She’d let him choose – the reddest rose, the brightest marigold, whatever his young eyes fancied. He would carry it like a treasure back to his room, setting it with great care in a glass half-filled with water. One for him, one to keep. For a day or two, the bloom would brighten his room. He would admire it with the quiet devotion of a soul older than his had any right to be. But soon, its edges would curl, its stem would bend, and by the week’s end, it was a crumpled shadow of itself. He watched this with an unspoken sadness, something about it hurt in a way he didn’t quite understand. After a while, he stopped picking the flowers, even when his mother offered. He wanted them to stay as he saw them – in full bloom, untouched. “Why not take one?” she’d ask, her voice as gentle as the soil beneath her hands. But he’d shake his head, glancing out at the garden as though trying to memorize it all in a single look. “They’re prettier here,” he’d murmur, his voice almost too quiet to hear. And his mother would smile, ruffling soft blonde hair with those same earthy hands with a mothers pride; a lesson imparted that sometimes the things you love should be left alone, because love, in its purest form of brilliant colors and sunny smiles and dirty hands, is not about possession, but appreciation.

******* ***

Nanami wasn’t one for friendships, nor for the loud, messy camaraderie of his classmates. He was the quiet observer, the one whose presence was easy to overlook until you needed a clear answer or a steady hand. Haibara Yu, on the other hand, was the kind of boy who made himself known in every room – friendly, loud, with an irrepressible grin and the easy charm that pulled everyone into his orbit. Haibara was the type who could wander into a stranger’s conversation and be welcomed before he’d even said his name. He would find beauty in the ordinary – a bent blade of grass, an overripe pear, fallen blossoms trodden underfoot – and he gave freely, tossing these pieces of his joy like candy. And somehow, this boy, more golden-retriever than man, became his best friend. During the brief weeks of cherry blossom season, petals blanketed the schoolyard, caught in the breeze, drifting like snow. Haibara would gather them by the handful, tossing them to anyone nearby enough to receive them; like they were something precious, and not just seasonal tree-litter. Nanami found himself on the receiving end of Haibara’s antics more often than not. One particular afternoon, Nanami was deep in a book, crouched against the wall beneath the shade of a tree, when he felt a tug at his collar. Haibara tucked a blossom behind his ear. “Perfect,” he announced, stepping back with a look of proud mischief. “Gotta add a little color to your life, Nanami! Look how pretty!” Nanami had grumbled, brushing the petal from his hair, but Haibara’s smile was contagious. Against his will, he found himself smiling, too, at the absurdity of it all. And despite his protests, he let Haibara continue – tucking flowers into his hair, hiding them in his hood, filling his pockets with petals until they spilled onto the floor. He would humor him, because he knew how deeply Haibara loved every moment of living, and how little he asked in return.

And then, the worst outcome to what should've been just a regular Tuesday happened.

There were no flowers in there. That was the first thought that seeped its way into Nanami's mind as he gazed down at Haibara's covered up body in the morgue, bloodshot eyes prickling with the pain from the day prior. No flowers, only the blossoming petals of coagulated blood that had stained the thin fabric separating what was once someone bigger than life and the harsh reality of their permanent absence.

The stark contrast between the shiny, cold, hard steel over every surface in that room left no space for the green, the pink, the yellow, the resplendent warmth of life that was alien to this mortuary monolith of death. And then, just as grief had dug its teeth around his chest, Nanami came to realize what could only be considered as some sort of self-inflicted torture.

I never gave him any flowers.

The cherry blossoms Haibara had fashioned in his hair, his clothes, all around him on that one sweet, sunny day – it had all stayed with Nanami, the memory of a beautiful moment shared with his closest person now tarnished by the weight of this painful realization.

Was this it? Did Nanami fail his best friend so spectacularly that the first flowers he'd ever give to Haibara, someone who flourished in everyone's life, would be at his funeral?

Was this the future reserved for the likes of him and Haibara? The beauty and tenderness of petals only reserved for when it was too little, too late?

It was only after Haibara was killed, a mission so routine that all were left reeling, that the memories stung, sharp as thorns. Sometimes, on nights thick with silence that should’ve been filled with crinkling snack bags and loud laughter well past quiet hours, Nanami would find a blossom pressed between the pages of a book Haibara had borrowed. A reminder, pink as a bleeding bruise, pinned within Nanami’s careful pages. A beautiful life, snipped with violent sheers from the garden – a blossom he’d only started to fully appreciate as its edges were already curdled with decay.

******* ***

There was a dim, unchanging silence in Nanami’s life after Haibara’s death – a grayness that blanketed every hour, every inch of his thoughts; what was a garden without a sun to feed it? It was easier to let himself drift, as though by keeping his mind empty, he might somehow avoid feeling anything at all. And in that space, Nanami found a kind of grim peace. Silence, to him, was a balm. But Gojo Satoru wouldn’t let him have it. Gojo was all brightness and noise, a sharp, irrepressible force that never leashed itself to restraint. He would show up unannounced, talk too much and too loudly, filling Nanami’s presence with his voice. And if Gojo noticed Nanami’s lack of response, he gave no indication – because Gojo Satoru was not something so trivial as the sun, he was a supernova, too brilliant to look upon. On a late afternoon, Nanami retreated to the yard – a place he’d once found calm – when Gojo appeared, holding a bundle of cherry blossoms. He approached with that signature grin, holding the flowers out as though they were some grand token of kindness, something Nanami should be grateful for. “Spring,” Gojo announced, his tone far too cheery, as though the world had every reason to celebrate. “Pretty, right?” Nanami stared at the flowers, his expression blank. The blooms looked too pink, too delicate, too flowery, too perfect. A perfect mockery of what they once meant. He took one sharp breath, feeling the tightness in his chest harden to something cold.

“Take them,” Gojo insisted, practically shoving the blossoms into Nanami’s hand. He didn’t so much as glance down. Instead, he let his hand fall, releasing the flowers without a word. They drifted to the ground, the petals scattering in a small, meaningless heap. Nanami looked away, his gaze fixed somewhere over Gojo’s shoulder, anywhere but at the person who was trying, too hard and without reason, to intrude on his grief.

“Not in the mood. Got it!” Gojo grinned. But Nanami only turned on his heel, walking away without so much as a nod. If Gojo wanted a reaction, he’d get none from him. He felt a grim satisfaction at his refusal, a confirmation that he could still draw a line when he existed in straight lines and statistics and rationality and ratios. Gojo’s flowers, now scattered and forgotten, lay where he had dropped them, as if they’d never held any meaning at all. Because there was no room for flowers in Nanami Kento’s life. They were too fragile, their supple flesh bruised too easily by the fingers of the cruel or the careless. It mattered not if he left the flower to grow in the garden, because for all the care and appreciation he could show it, it would die.

They always did.

******* ***

Nanami Kento grew up, and became a man of small routines and quiet convictions. He was disciplined and solitary, spending his days in a precise pattern of obligations: work, study, sleep, and repeat. He ate alone, walked the same routes, and carried a silence that made most people feel comfortable leaving him well enough alone. Each Monday, he went to the florist down the street from his apartment. It was a small, unremarkable shop, the kind you might pass without a second thought with sun-stained and yellowed windows and old cracked tile. Inside, the flowers were modest – no grand arrangements, no bouquets meant to wow. But every week, Nanami would stand there, studying each bunch with the seriousness he usually reserved for work. As cyclical and predictable as his mundane habits, the flowers were a commitment, something to return to at the end of each day, a small reminder that he had at least one reason to make it home. A cautionary measure of sorts, in case he faltered in his unyielding resolution to keep at his ordinary routine with his ordinary, reliable little comforts.

They required almost nothing of him – just a fresh glass of water each morning and a moment to discard the wilting petals when they’d had their time. In return, they filled a small corner of his apartment with something bright and alive. A much needed reminder in his line of work. Once, an old colleague had asked him why he didn’t get a pet. “Seems like you could use the company,” they’d said offhand. But he had only shaken his head. A pet would require too much. They grew attached, they needed more than just water and sun – they required presence, a resource Nanami could not afford to offer, not to anyone or anything. If he died, which he viewed as inevitable, it would be left alone, a burden passed along to someone else. No, Nanami couldn't. He wouldn't.

Flowers were different. Their impermanence suited him. They were not expecting a tomorrow, and in that way, they were a comfort he could manage. Aware of his position as a jujutsu sorcerer, clearly to a fault, he'd rather not impose his absence onto another living being, and treat himself like something just as ephemeral as the petals he'd let wither every week in that quiet, little corner of his life. The flowers were not from anyone, not a gift, not a gesture of pity. They were something he gave himself, a small reminder that, perhaps, he deserved to see beauty in his own life, too. They were a nod to survival, to making it through each Monday, then Tuesday, and on and on. He’d place them in the same glass vase, set them on the same narrow ledge near his kitchen window, and allow himself a brief moment to admire the color they brought to the room. And when he returned each evening, the sight of them gave him a small, steady reason to stop, to take a breath, to continue forward. Because as much as he liked to think he was untouched by the world around him, he knew better than to believe he was anything more than mortal. And mortality, as it did for all things, would catch up with him. Nanami honed his life to a blade, sharp and solitary. He worked until the ache in his bones became as familiar as his breath, until each day bled into the next in a march toward the inevitable conclusion he would not name.

******* ***

Mahito’s touch was fire and rot. A thousand memories converged: his mother’s garden, flowers he dared not pick; Haibara’s petals, scattered across his shoulders; Gojo’s blossoms, unappreciated then, but stinging now with the ache of regret left trampled in the dirt. In the blackened periphery of his vision, those flowers now floated, eerie, fragile momentos against the creeping dark in his eyes – or eye, he thinks he has only one now. They reached out in a sea of pale blooms to guide him, open arms to welcome him home. Haibara stood just ahead, haloed in light, and Nanami couldn’t even begin to think that strange. He knew he would be there. The boys smile was as steady as it was in life, unbroken, as though death had granted him nothing but peace. He felt the ache of it most sharply, shuddering through his bloody and broken body. His old friends face like springtime, unspoiled and untouched by the brutal, shrieking world they’d been born into. He need only step forward, to sink, to fall – the cold hand caressing between his shoulder blades would shepherd him to death. But footsteps came echoing down linoleum, pulling him back as he teetered on the razors edge. Yuji. Peach-pink, a small brightness against his vision that grows darker with every cold breath. A flower himself, hopeful and stubborn, rising from the barren soil of their world. His face was desperate, broken in the way his name cracked and fell hollow from his lips with trembling hands that wilted limp to his sides. Nanami’s heart twisted; he’d known this moment would come, that the end had been creeping up behind him all this time. He feared Yuji’s grief, what it could become and what it could do, the way this scene would imprint itself deep in the boy’s memory, sinking roots that might never let go. But in Yuji’s gaze, even beneath flat horror and despair, he saw it – the strength he’d searched for his whole life, something soft and resilient. Yuji was as fragile and as enduring as a wildflower, something untouched and tenacious, able to withstand the bitterest of winds and the worst of natures cruelty. Nanami saw it clearly: Yuji would grow, rise from ruin, bright and alive. He would persist. The edges of his world blurred, discordant shapes curling in the melting pot of his eye, and with a last, soft breath and his best attempt at a smile, Nanami gave what faith he had left. “You’ve got it from here.”

******* ***

The quietude solemnly prevailed over the debris and decay of Shinjuku, and for a fleeting moment, Gojo thought of the irony, how come such chaos left in its wake this indelible absence of sound? No birds chirped in the morning, nor any other animals dared to venture through the battle-scarred surroundings, no man's land for those who insisted on staying behind to fight the King of Curses.

The silence that laid there laid bare in mourning for the losses.

Gojo gazed out the window as the gray sun set behind a curtain of gray clouds cast over the gray skyline, torn-down buildings scattered all over the gray terrain and pillaged wreckage. The air itself weaved flecks of soot and inhospitality, and it had been days since he saw a murmur of life dredging its way through the barren landscape — a small humming bird, that fleetingly passed its way outside their makeshift bunker before disappearing just as fast as it had come.

In this prevalent, overwhelming absence of green, the best he could haphazardly improvise was poaching a plastic flower from one of the many florals centerpieces on sale in an abandoned, ransacked store around the area. That, and a single incense, with a simple, small, black square incense holder.

Over the windowsill, the sorcerer placed one single faux white rose, the edges of its petals frail and frazzled under dust blemishes. Beside it, Gojo positioned the holder with a simple byakudan incense propped up by the holder's snug. It stood proudly, even if ideally, Gojo would've preferred to spare the right amount of incenses, time, effort, and flowers to hold a proper otsuya in honor of his fallen friend. The incense's smoke snaked and swirled in the air in a lonely stream, and just as Gojo himself, the solitude of the moment he held away from his students and colleagues ensured him once more.

We all die alone. Just like Nanami did.

Joining both his hands in front of his chest in a prayer, Gojo surrendered his six eyes to the quiet, closing his eyelids, regarding the silence for a moment with careful consideration, a small gesture of affection he spared for those he truly cared about. He wondered, caught up in thoughts, if he should indeed chant a sutra in the ratio sorcerer's honor, and as a trick of his imagination bringing forth the amalgam of impressions and memories ingrained in his mind, Gojo could hear the faint ghost of Nanami's voice. He could hear in the measured, precise beats of his usual nonchalant tone how unnecessary that was, and that Gojo, as the strongest, should waste no precious time in other endeavors that weren't dedicated to slay the evil which had brought destruction over Japan. And he heard, just as faintly, that same voice recede quietly in empathetic acceptance of his irrational need to honor a departed colleague.

For all his methodical regard over human matters, Nanami was inexorably kind at heart, clearly to a fault.

Clearly to death.

"Gojo sensei?" a minute whisper cut through the somber silence, and Gojo turned around to look at the two who stepped into his solitary funeral rite. Yuji and Ino stood in the doorway, gazing at him and then at the makeshift, simple altar he had concocted with those few looted items. Upon realizing what Gojo was probably doing, Yuji apologized, and explained, "we were looking for you. We didn't mean to intrude."

"It's alright," Gojo replied, his usual smile forming over his face as a force of habit for his students’ benefit.

Ino regarded the scene in front of him attentively, remembering that earlier, on that very same day, Gojo had finally learned about Nanami's death during the Shibuya incident. Thoughtfully, he inquired, "is this an otsuya for Nanami?"

Gojo was slightly surprised, but not from the keen observation skills of Ino – after all, he was his mentee, Nanami's mentee. Gojo just didn't have in mind he'd find himself in this very scenario, even in all likelihood of that happening.

"Yes, yes it is," he conceded.

"I'd like to pay my respects too," Yuji stated, stepping forward towards his teacher, "if that would be okay."

"Me too," Ino followed, approaching them both with measured steps. He briefly noticed the unkempt state of the rose Gojo had put as an offering on the windowsill, and it crossed his mind with a stinging amusement how much Nanami would be equal parts offended and grateful for this thoughtful gesture done in such a haphazard manner, even if he probably would only voice the former. Funerals, after all, were impractical. They served as vehicles of grief for the living, not the dead who had long since been shepherded along past whichever mortal veil awaited them. And in this desolate land of ruin and war, where grief hung heavy and pressed bowed heads all the lower, there was still beauty to be found in this small act of rebellion against death. A kind of garden bloomed in that space – not one of petals or green things, but the connections left behind, roots that dug deep, holding fast even in barren soil. A garden of the heart, built on friendship, quiet appreciation, and the stubborn will to live and remember.

And in that sacred silence, Nanami would have clapped Ino on the back in the way he never did in life, a chuckle in his throat as he chided him with a quiet, “real men cry, Ino.” Ino’s jaw trembled, his hands tight at his sides, a breath held in with solemn determination not to let tears fall. Nanami might have approved, or perhaps he’d have nudged him closer to grief with a final, gentle insistence: some burdens were meant to be shared.

Yuji stood apart, eyes wide and carrying grief in the fragile way of youth. Nanami would watch with a quiet ache, recognizing that herculean weight Yuji bore, a burden he’d taken on willingly but never asked for. In Yuji, Nanami saw an echo of his younger self – a boy carrying the burdens meant for a man, each step of the path cobbled by the failure of the adults around him. Perhaps, in another life, he might have been there to guide him further, to offer the steady strength of a fathers hand. But here, from this distance, he could only hope that Yuji knew: he had done enough.

At Gojo’s side, Nanami would have stood without a word, a silent presence where no more needed to be said. He’d never dared it in life, never felt it his right to stand beside a man who seemed less human than some cosmic force. But here, in death, he allowed himself to be steady and still, a quiet echo of companionship he never afforded himself. And as Gojo’s eyes slid sideways, a faint, knowing flicker, Nanami wondered if he knew.

In the end, Nanami had left little behind, yet these three, brighter than any flower, were a bouquet of all he’d valued. An oasis, growing fast even in the shadowed, broken heart of Shinjuku. The smoke drifted higher, and somewhere beyond it all, Nanami stood watch, as those three blossoms remained forever in full bloom.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami angst #jjk angst #angst #nanami #kento #kento angst #nanami kento angst

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retiredteabag · 2 months ago

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They accidentally hurt you

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, Megumi

my smau masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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kenthoescore · 1 year ago

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The night we met - nanami kento.

tags. angst, spoilers!shibuya arc

synopsis. it was the night before nanami kento left for shibuya, you can't shake the feeling that he's saying goodbye.

You laid in bed, your head pressed against Kento's chest, listening to the strong heartbeat of his heart.

"Sweetheart, I love you," Kento whispers, his hands brushing your hair gently. His arm served as a pillow.

"I love you too, Kento, with all my heart." You replied back.

Kento stays silent, the brush of his fingers against your hair was consistent. His breathing was silent. You wish you could stay like this forever, cuddled in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you.

He pulls you to his chest and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Look at me." He says quietly, placing a finger on your chin, making you look into his eyes.

His orbs were unreadable. Many thoughts swirling behind them but they remained the same, looking at you like you were the air that he breathed, touching and looking at you gently like you were made of expensive porcelain that he was careful not to break.

"Hmm?"

He smiles at you, his thumb caressing the side of your face. Memorizing every detail, even the smallest and unnoticeable parts of you.

"I want know that every beat of my heart sings your name. I would never not think about you or not love you, even until my last breath." He says quietly.

This was not random or uncommon for Kento to say deep meaningful words to you. But it had struck you differently this time, it rendered you speechless. It was like he was saying goodbye.

"Every time I look into your eyes, my soul finds solace in a love that words fail to articulate, being here with you feels like home," He takes a deep breath, smiling down at you.

"Kento, what is this? Is everything alright?" You ask, a worried edge to your tone. You catch the slight grief and sadness in his words.

He shook his head, still smiling gently at you.

"If I return in this mission to Shibuya..." He starts.

It hits you, Shibuya. Yuuji Itadori, the student he considers as his child, Sukuna's vessel. You get pulled back into the reality outside of his embrace.

"Marry me."

You froze up, your eyes widened. It wasn't a question, Kento chuckled. A playful smile on his lips.

"I would get down on one knee at a better time, keep your answer until I do." He smiles at you.

You nod wordlessly.

Tears well up in your eyes as you tried to contain them. You felt the dull ache of your throat, as you choked back your tears of happiness.

A tear escaped from your eyes.

He wipes it gently.

"And when we do, we'll travel the world. Read books with you, enjoy life with you, and spend the rest of my days with you."

He added.

"After this, I'll quit my job. Will you agree to adopting Yuuji?"

He asks, looking at you for permission.

You loved the kid as much as he loved him. You knew Yuuji would love to have a family to take care of him, you adored the kid.

"I would, he's a nice kid. He deserves the world."

Kento smiles at you. The evening continued with soft conversations, whispered i love you's, playful banter until the both of you can't talk anymore.

Kento waited until you were asleep, watching you quietly with a contented smile on his lips.

"Wait for me." He whispered in the cold air of the night.

Little did the both of you know, he wouldn't come back. The plane tickets to Malaysia would rot in a compartment of the bedside table. His ties would land untouched in the wardrobe, his suits would hang, waiting for Kento to wear them again.

His pile of unread books would never decrease in amount nor increase in the pile, his dream vacations would not be crossed out, his bucketlist would not be fulfilled.

The ring he bought you would forever lay hidden in the place only he would know.

You would never get to wear it.

You would never get married to the love of your life.

You would never see him with Yuuji again.

You would never see him watch your children be a mix of his and your personalities and looks.

You would never see be in his arms again.

You would lead a life without Nanami Kento.