#nanami Abe

[kurooh]

you’re ceo nanami kento’s pretty little secretary.

in the mornings, you bring him coffee and stacks of papers for him to sign off on; in the afternoon (his favorite time of day), you head into his office to give him his lunch — a sandwich from a nearby shop and the sweet snack between your legs.

“come on, kento,” you purr, egging him on by pulling on his tie while you spread your legs.

“someone’s impatient,” your boss remarks, kissing down your body and chuckling against your stomach. “enough squirming, sweetheart.”

“you know i can’t help it,” is your whiny excuse just before he pins your twisting hips down with both hands. “quit teasing, you’re using up your lunch break.”

“fine, fine,” he’s unbothered, nipping your skin on the way down to your pussy. the two of you were simply too caught up with closing the door and getting into position on his desk to remember all your clothes . .

“kento!” you exclaim the moment you hear the loud ripping of fabric from between your legs. “you’ve completely mangled it, how am i supposed to go around the office?”

with a roll of his hazel eyes, kento tosses the pantyhose over his shoulder, lips tilting up into a smile. “you wanted me to hurry up, hm? you look gorgeous without them anyway.”

your cheeks warm, and you look away shyly.

“sweetheart,” he licks up the length of your pussy before hungrily going for your clit. you moan, turning to face him with hooded eyes. “i want you to watch me while i eat my lunch, okay?”

“yes, boss,” is your hushed response, his least favorite title outside of when you use it during sex.

a sudden heat flashes through kento’s body, and he sucks his clit into his mouth and his eyes meet yours, filling the air with a thick tension.

“good girl,” he praises you lowly, his voice sending shocks of pleasure through every inch of your body. when your eyes close, he pulls back from your needy cunt.

“tsk, what’d i tell you about keeping your eyes on me?”

[driaswrld]

higuruma who likes wine. i'm thinking he likes it almost as dry as his coffee but he's very appreciative of the fruity undertones — like you can tell the mood he's in based on the wine he's bought.

he wins a case and he already has a bottle of pinot noir open and waiting for when you finally get home, tie loose and manspreading on the couch, hair tousled and a small dopey smile (yes he started without you but don't worry, he's sure you can keep up)

or maybe he's lost a case and you're pouring him a third glass of california cabernet in the warm bathtub, soap bubbles on his frown lines, arms wrapped tight around you while you straddle him, his teeth grazing your shoulder (he's literally just a brooding baby, hold him pls)

either way, he fucks you idk why i was talking ab the wine. idk anything ab wine. basis is he fucks you while wine drunk really.

[specshroom]

Imagine Demon Suguru tempting you (a nun) into thinking very sinful thoughts about Priest Nanami.

Feeling so guilty for touching yourself at night while the malicious demon whispers lustful thoughts into your ear, not knowing that Demon Gojo is doing the same thing to Nanami in his own bed.

Following him around during the day whispering sinful thoughts into his head about the nice nun he's always paid special attention to. This all culminates when you confess your sins in the confession booth with Nanami on the other side, gripping his rosary, barely containing himself as he listens to the source of all his sinful desires confess to such debouched thoughts about none other than himself.

All while Satoru and Suguru grin at each other, very pleased with their demonic work.

[saintshigaraki]

going to say something controversial but i believe in speaking my truth.....nanami does not have abs in my mind's eye 🙏 it is against god and nature. i do not think that man goes to the gym....he's in shape and so strong but it's like . a practical kind of strength that comes simply because he does the type of job he does.

[riaki]

knitted hearts | kento nanami x reader

pt.3 of christmas event! i wrote this for u genie ily 🤍 cw: established relationship, he (over)works at that financing company from before, two (2) petnames

the lights are still on.

that's the first thing kento immediately notices when he gets back; the office clocked him overtime, and so he's late. regrettably, again.

in the past, whenever that's happened, he'd have sent you a text beforehand and came home to a dark apartment; eaten something quick before getting into bed and slipping beneath the soft covers where your resting warmth melts away the stress of the day between his shoulders and his eyebrows.

tonight is different, it seems. the city buzzes with a quiet hum, light snowfall blanketing the roofs and muffling the sound. the holiday season is in full swing; normally, he wouldn't care to know. or remember. if not for the lame decorations around his workplace and the chocolate advent calendar you've been diligently (force) feeding him every night, he wouldn't've noticed at all.

he closes the door quietly behind him, careful not to make excess noise in case you're asleep as he slips his shoes off and hangs his jacket up. after all, you might've just been absentminded or tired, and forgot to switch the lights off. and you blame him for being lost to time.

it's quiet in the house; not dead silent, though. there's soft, ambient winter jazz flowing from somewhere in the house, and the faint sound of the fridge humming, paired with something that's baking in the oven. the scent of soft vanilla and orange settles gently over his shoulders, as if to welcome him home. his half finished coffee sits in a porcelain mug on the stained counter; you'd accidentally made too much for him, leaving you with a puddle of bitter caffeine that couldn't even be finished with your combined efforts. you'd promised him you would chug it over text, but clearly that didn't happen.

he's ready to go through the motions of a quiet night spent unwinding alone when he hears your voice— after endless hours of aching at a desk, clacking away on a mechanical keyboard in the dreariest environment imaginable, it soothes him like no vacation fantasy he's ever known.

"nami? is that you?" you called. your voice is coming from the shared bedroom; you sound tired, and kento can just imagine the sleepy look on your face. he's never been inclined to use the words 'cute' or 'pretty' to describe someone before, but if he had to choose, then he'd use them for you.

he walks down the length of the hallway, undoing his tie and gently tugging it off his neck as he reaches the threshold to your room. the air is warm and soft; it seems so much easier to breathe the closer you are. like the crushing weight of work he puts on his lungs dissipates into a cloud of melting frost.

"i'm home, sweetheart." he's surprised at how rough his own voice sounds; it's almost unfamiliar. he needs your rejuvenating touch; at least, that's what he decides the instant he sees you. you're sitting right in the middle of the mattress, something lumpy, tacky, red and green bundled up in your lap. with something between a sinking realization and a fluttering in his chest he recognizes it as the sweater you've been making for him. you're finishing it up, it seems, from the formerly-wide bundle of soft thread that's been reduced to a meek little crimson string on the white sheets.

it's one of your new interests. you seem to be taking up a lot of those, lately; kento feels as though it's his fault, for never having the time to take you out. yet you're always so patient despite his busy schedule, adjusting to portion out a chunk of time from your own just to accommodate for him. it's unfair, and so one night he vowed to do more for you over a glass of red wine and a fancy white table cloth, freshly cleaned and pressed. that was one of the rare times he'd been able to take you out like you really deserved. "and don't call me by my last name. you're allowed to use my given," he sighs, rather exasperated, but you both know there's only affection behind it.

you perk up, a bright look in your eyes that melts the last of the frost buried in his chest and beneath his eyes. he crosses the room to stand at the foot of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt a few to let himself breathe. and he doesn't miss the way your eyes linger, so he clears his throat, and you spring to action.

"i finished your sweater, ken. can you put it on?" you ask eagerly, and he's briefly reminded of a young boy with pink hair like raspberry chocolate and a golden retriever demeanor. a soft feeling pushes at the back of his heart, sending mushy gushiness through his veins at the sight.

you scoot close, holding it up for him to examine. in all honesty, it's not terrible; you get an A for effort, at the very least. the five reindeer look more like those urban folklore creatures, and the tree looks as though it could use seven more centuries under the sun-- but other than that, it's a perfect first try.

"i'd love to, darling, but i..." he doesn't get to finish, because you seem to wilt a little, and it already feels like that crushing burden over his diaphragm is back, but this time it's exceedingly and guiltily unpleasant, so he retracts his words.

"alright." he succumbs with a tired sigh, letting his eyes flutter shut and removing his glasses to rub the spot where the frame has been digging into his skin; normally you'd do it for him, but you're busy adjusting the fluffy pom poms (he didn't see those before) on the sweater's cuffs, so he does it himself.

he hears the tell tale shift of the soft bedding and he opens his eyes again, only to be met with a very expectant look on your face.

"put your hands up."

"...pardon?" a small amount of resistance to your antics is always present, at first. by now he knows you expect it. but this time, it may be much worse.

"you heard me! arms to the sky." he likes your laugh, a lot. it jingles like a gentle wind chime.

"i can put it on myself. i'm not a child," he says, a little cross, but you're undeterred. as per usual. not like he minds.

"please?"

kento doesn't particularly view himself as a man with a great many ambitious, or zealous ideals. still, he isn't a pushover and has a strong resolve. unfortunately for him (fortunately for you), when it comes to you, it doesn't take much for him to crumble. if you willed it, he'd get down at your feet.

with resignation, he kneels down on one leg, as if you're about to knight him. he waits patiently, holding his arms up, and he can practically feel your giddy smile.

soon enough, you're slipping it over his tangled blonde hair— with a little bit of effort and a lot of scratchy fabric. it's too big here and too tight there, hanging off his shoulders oddly and the sleeves are uneven. but it's cute, too-- in the way that a toddler's crayon doodles are endearing, so are your amateur efforts. what matters to him the most, is that you've handmade it for him.

nothing an industry company factory could achieve.

"so? how do you like it?" you prompt as you start to mess with the collar, pinching and pulling the fabric so that it suits his form appropriately. he doesn't ever remember you asking for his size, but you seem to know it anyway.

"it's warm," is his only input. he knows you'll complain— but it's fun to hear you whine.

you frown. "is that all?" there it is— a small, sweet little pout; the minute down tilt of your lips. your fingers dance over his collarbone as you pull the collar of his button up over the rim, and his breath hitches in his throat. kento wonders if you can feel his heartbeat or notice the way his adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

before you— or he— knows it, he's pulling you down to sit on the knee that's still propped up, catching you by the rest and meeting you halfway to press a gentle kiss to your lips. he's met with a muffled sound of surprise that quickly melts into a laugh; he can feel you smile against his lips and he wants to devour it.

"so i take it you like it?" you whispered as you lean in, hands leaving the unwieldy sweater to thread through his hair, messing it up to your heart's content after he slicked it to the side. you taste sweet, like chocolate and caramel-- he must've missed the advent sweet for today.

his only response is a small hum— you can feel the vibration, so you chuckle again and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling away breathless from the kiss to knock your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes. there's an undeniable well of warmth behind your gorgeous irises; if he had the time, he'd get himself lost in them.

"good, because i have socks on the backburner and you'll be getting a scarf next."

whenever the lights are off, kento knows you've gone to bed already, without him. but he thinks he could get used to scratchy, hand-knit clothing if it means they'll always be on and waiting for him after a long day of dreaming in front of a desk, all about your smile.

not proofread my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[yutamayo]

TAG YOURSELF IM

gag reflex practice & extra gag reflex practice

skilled hands & unskilled hands

slutty waist & cute elbows

beauty mark & beautiful boy

Bonus:

"You don't need anymore practice, I've told you a million times..."

[str4ngr]

distance [ nanami kento ]

cw: BIG angst, mourning, s2 spoilers [i think we all know], a little off plot, death, wife! reader, nanami perspective. that scene had me balling and for what.

his eyes fluttered shut. cool wind rushing across his cheek, sand dancing across the skin of his bare feet as he wandered the white beaches of malaysia. he could hear you, feel you, but couldn't see. your warmth engulfed him, angelic laughter echoing in his head as he graced a perfect smile at the sound.

battered and beat, blood dripped down his nose, like the salty ocean water he dreamt of swimming in. it all felt perfectly numb as his shoulder twisted in resistance, eyes open again. he saw your face. he saw your tears. he closed his eyes.

malaysia was beautiful. it was where the sun was hot and the breeze was cold. it was where he held your waist as you took a walk. it was where he would have raised his children with you. it's where he would have hosted your actual wedding, since he couldn't find a beautiful enough venue for his divine wife to grace in japan.

it hurt. it burned. his flesh was piece-y and gone, leaving a searing agony that struck his half. air struggled to enter and exit. knees buckling as he forced himself forward.

he could hear the seagulls flapping and crying above, laying on cloud like cushion, your comforting body pressed to his side. it was perfect, the wind, the birds, the ocean, and you. he wanted to see you, not just feel you, not just smell the flowers in your hair, but to see the smile he looked forward to every evening at 5:30 p.m. after his commute home.

he swung and swung. hitting something and another only to be hit back.

he heard the soft sounds of paper flipping, your mellow voice whispering comments as your head lay on his shoulder. his fingers traced your hair, desperate to make it reality.

cold, colder than ice, than the glacier farthest away from malaysia, a hand pressed against his burning spine. he felt eight eyes on him, six of whom he loved, two of who he despised. the glittering of his golding wedding ring was the only thing his eyes caught after itadori.

the blue sky surrounds him, your warm face in front of his as his lips graze yours in a soft whisper,

"i love you."

directory

[augustinewrites]

to me gojo's theme song is daddy's home by usher, and I can see him bursting in the house with that fucking song on speaker and his stupid glasses serenading it to you LSGQJJQJQ

may i offer:

gojo bursts into the room playing daddy’s home by usher in an attempt to serenade you but he’s done this so many times before so just this once you tease him and look around all confused, and go “but where’s nanami?”

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

always a god never human II satoru gojo

tags: post shibuya au, alt au where satoru is cursed to be blind, fluff, argument, angst, regret

word count: 4.5k

note: I wanted to write something that could encapsulate what being human is for satoru in the best worst case scenario. some of you might love this as I do, and thank you for your support. also, I made a reference to odysseus and the cyclops so I think I got it right (I haven't read the odyssey in nearly 10 years). also forgive me and please correct me if I got the kikufuku part wrong. will make a part two if this comes out well (I already have it drafted).

satoru gojo had been exposed to curses for as long as he could remember. first, as a boy, then as a student in jujutsu tech, and finally as a friend and instructor to those around him; but he had never been directly cursed.

not until now.

"you may remain as the strongest, satoru gojo, but your strength will be the only thing to hold you. no one but yourself will disinter it, so don't waste your time searching for something already set as destined." he recalled.

"love will be your salvation yet damnation, for you will cry for your shortcomings and failures. no one but you will carry this burden. let it remind you of this day, of the battle in which you never, truly won."

he always wakes up in a cold sweat afterwards. with the erratic beating of his heart and the tears running down his cheeks, satoru clings to himself, pressing a hand to his heart so as to remind himself of his current position. the back of his throat feels rough like sandpaper, and he licks his lips before reaching for the glass of water he's reserved for nights like these.

he drinks nearly all of it, his heart heavy before his fingers fish for his phone by his bedside.

"hey siri," he speaks, voice hoarse, "what time is it?"

"it's 3:24am."

with an exhaled huff, he puts his phone to the side, making note to remember where it is in the morning. as he lays his head down and focuses on the feeling of blood rushing to his fingertips, arms laid out side by side and fists clenching and unclenching, he sighs.

tomorrow will be better, he tells himself, but it has to change, whispers the other.

"now listen, don't give me that look, it's serious!" your frown causes utahime, your longtime friend of 4 years to shake her hands out to grab your attention, causing you to stifle a smile from your face as you hide your lips behind your cup of tea. "I have a job proposal for you, from a friend. and I think you'd like the pay."

utahime had always been sensible on the topic of money. knowing your constant struggles as a college student and now graduate, seeking to find new sources of income to keep up with bills and student loans, the sorceress felt compassion for you, a friend of hers who has grounded and guided her through frustration after frustration; work and romance related. she's never had the luxury of normalcy to a life like yours, she knows, so doing this was in her best interest for your benefit.

she tells you she has a friend who has decided to take up reading. problem is, he's blind.

"he's not a child, though he acts like it sometimes, but he's not some prune old man either. he's around your age so I'm sure talking to him along with your patience won't be an issue."

besides the generous pay for your time, 6 hours a week for $500 as a starting salary, there was something about this arrangement that left you with a good feeling in your heart. and it wasn't because your client was blind, no. it was the sheer opportunity for growth, in doing something you loved and doing something someone wanted to partake in. so on the day of your arrival you dress your best, hair neatly combed with a pearl diadem and academia as your outfit inspiration for the occasion. "he lives in a secluded home," you recall utahime's words, "up on a hill, or cliff. I don't know. it's always cloudy over there," and you can make out the home on the hill. it's quaint, and you feel thankful for having picked the clothes adequate for the weather.

it surely looked like it was going to rain, so you quicken your pace until you're at the front door, standing still as you swallow the lump at the back of your throat. you were no psychic, but the way your heart churned and palpitated let you know something was about to change your life forever.

"you must be the girl utahime sent, I'm satoru. please step inside," you absentmindedly take in the smile he gives you, taking no answer from you before he opens the door to let you in. he wears a pair of black glasses, contrasting to his snowy hair and porcelain skin. wearing casual loungewear neither of you dare to touch one another in the sense of exchanging a handshake out of respect, or fear. it all feels formal, too formal as if this were a job interview or more.

"it's quite cold outside, isn't it?" after you step inside and change into a pair of slippers that are slightly too big for you, satoru shows you to where you would read to him.

he makes conversation rather well, you find, but there is slight awkwardness in the interactions but not in the way he moves around the house. as he moves up the stairs, he has a hand against the wall as he takes each step with precision, knowing when and where to step. you're fairly quiet, but polite in your conversation with him, until you reach the space he calls his 'study' which is just a room with a large window accompanied by books and belongings.

"you're probably wondering how on earth a blind guy has a clean place, right? well to answer your question, housekeeping."

"I wasn't thinking about that," you answer softly biting the inside of your cheek, "I was just admiring the window."

there's a momentary silence between the two of you. either satoru is surprised by your reply, unrelated to his blindness, or you have struck a sensitive chord, however, his nod makes you think otherwise.

"it is. before I was blind, I'd come here as a teen. house is mine, so even the doors are nice in here." and when he hears you agree, he smiles. "anyways, I'm sure utahime told you the basics about this, yeah?"

"yes."

"great. there's a book on that table to your right. you can start reading that one." as he walks, he takes a seat on a chair across from you. he patiently waits until you sit down again to ask, "before we start, would you like some water?"

"yeah," you breathe, "that'd be great actually."

"there's a few water bottles under the table next to you," he informs, making himself comfortable on the chair, limbs spreading comfortably as you take out a water bottle and glance at the book in your lap.

"this book is about malaysia," you read the title, "is that somewhere you'd like to visit one day?"

"maybe," he says, "it was from a friend of mine."

"did he go to malaysia?"

there's a long silence in between the innocence your question and his answer.

"he did," he answers slowly. "it was always a dream of his to go, so that's why I've kept the book." you don't press him further, instead nodding and suggesting on starting.

when you open the book, you don't miss the elegant cursive writing at the top right of the page.

n. kento

you frequent satoru's home every monday, wednesday, and friday for 3 hours every day. the pay is more than what you expect the first week, $750, but you wonder how this man can easily afford your services.

the bigger question, is how can he live alone in such a home like that? does he ever get hurt? what does he do then?

"yeah, I live here by myself." he answers your question on the third week of your employment. "it's pretty neat though. I don't have to worry about anyone misplacing anything I leave, you know?" his attempt at a joke makes you chuckle and walk up the steps behind him to his study. "are we reading something new today?"

"there's something different I want to try," he tells you, "last night, on the news, I heard there was a feud over some meso-american statue. something to do with jade material being one of the few in existence. I know this is beyond what we agreed, but do you think you can find an article on it?" you nod, affirming his request.

"great!" he smiles, relieved, "my laptop is on the desk. feel free to use it."

you wanted to say that was the last time he asked you for a favor like that, but it was you who fueled his interest. that day, you ended up finding 4 articles, and playing 2 videos about the subject. and as a result, both you and satoru engaged in related conversation until the end of your assigned time.

every few days, satoru would inform you on something (practically asking) and you'd reply by responding, researching the questions he ached to know. it went such way that you were reading him books less and less and more article, media coverage, and conversation.

"did you hear about the experiment trials being conducted by this company called oceangate?" satoru asks, interest laced in his voice, "they're thinking about sending people to view the titanic shipwreck."

and quickly enough, so were you.

"yeah, I also heard about it. I couldn't help but read an article about it. apparently, they've done a few trials, but the company is independent, so I don't know how safe it is or if they have government members involved..."

one of satoru's favorite moments consist of the following.

"did you hear about the crime case that just happened last week? the one with the girl who survived the car accident."

"I did!" you answer eagerly, "I heard her stepdad was the last person to talk to her boyfriend."

"do you think he murdered him?"

"it's tough to say," you bite your bottom lip in contemplation, "I knew he didn't approve of him because he was an aspiring musician, but these texts came out saying he wrote to his brother, 'that man better stay away from my daughter or else I don't know what I'll do',""

"no way."

"and that's not even the worst part," you adjust yourself on your seat, criss cross applesauce. "they found dna remains in his car before his death, hair. right before the car accident. there's speculation they argued before..."

"the accident." satoru nods.

as the weeks progressed, so did your conversations with satoru. the two of you had a knack for being adaptable in your interactions with one another. you could reach a book for an hour, then talk about some recent story or just spend a whole session talking, with the mention of an article or some source always being mentioned.

and satoru burned for that. with every interaction, he found himself looking forward to what else he could bring up, and so did you, even spending time of your own researching things he might be interested in learning about.

things the both of you turned out interested learning about.

"here," satoru could feel the warmth emanate from your body (or his) as you sat next to him, your body scooting closer to his, "hold your hands, yeah, like that," placing a small statue, no bigger than the size of a wine bottle, satoru freezes slightly as you guide his fingers to glide along the edges of the statue.

"my friend managed to get this one out of the archives," you explain, "of course, I just had to bring this to you too. can you sense the material?" the corner of satoru's lips tug upwards in acknowledgement of your excitement. it makes his heart squeeze and pulse in ways that felt familiarly unfamiliar. in a good way, of course. everything you brought in his life was good. whether he could see it or not, you were always so welcoming and sweet.

"is this... legal?" he out of everyone finds himself whispering. as if the authorities could be outside his door. you giggle.

"yes," you smile, "I asked my friend if she could let me borrow this for the day, to take 'pictures'." you chuckle, "obviously that's not what we're doing, is it?" a warmth follows satoru's cheeks as he shakes his head and you smile. "this mesoamerican statue is the same material as the one we read the other week, remember?"

we, satoru's words echo in his head as he nods. "y-yeah. thank you for doing this, you know."

"of course," you smile kindly, "I figured, out of everyone who could be here, I figured you deserve this."

deserve.

"open your hands for me, satoru." your soft voice speaks as you cup his hands, the ocean waves crash from afar. after much convincing, you managed to pull satoru out of his comfort zone. what's the point of going to the ocean if I can't see it? he asks.

well, what's the point of me reading to you and us interacting if you can't see me? you counter. and he realizes you've won.

he can smell the saltwater, can feel the wind blow through his hair and let his feet sink into the sand, but that's not what makes his heart skip a beat. your hands shouldn't feel this soft, he thinks. the way you allow grains of sand to fall in his hands feel otherworldly, holy. the way he senses you smile at him and place a shell on his palm, letting him trace the surface with his finger as you guide him makes him feel as the most enlightened man alive.

he can sense you're close, not by strands of your hair slapping his cheek as the wind blows, but by the warmth of your body. suddenly, he does not feel he is at the beach, but with the beach guiding her hands with his and feeling the warmth of what he feels is your smile.

he remains silent, you're looking at him, and he's looking at you underneath his shades. he's frozen. waiting for you to say something, to break this off as if this would never, by any of his wildest dreams, occur in any universe.

but you don't.

satoru feels his pulse quicken, breathing deepen as the point of your feet slot themselves to his, your nose barely brushes his own, causing the six eyed user to forget everything he once thought he knew of limits and boundaries. kiss me, he thinks, take me, he begs to the heavens. satoru thinks he could be captivated, deeper than any spell odysseus and his men were under at sea, but they were cursed by calypso's beauty, and he felt blessed by the touch of an angel. your touch enviable to the gods above.

when you kiss him, he feels like he just made the greatest discovery to mankind, like he's waited his whole life for this, a feeling that greatly surpasses galileo's lifelong accomplishments and napoleon's combined. no feeling, word, or sight could transcribe what it feels to have your lips slide through his, to have you softly gasp against his lips, and to have your body close to his. satoru is convinced that he has reborn, become whole by the touch of your lips which have sweetly imprinted themselves throughout everything he is.

he holds the back of your neck gently, so as to remind himself that you are here, not a dream but here with him. flesh against flesh, man and woman who share one breath.

when you both pull away, satoru feels himself begging to pull you closer, but the hands that push him from you let him know you need to breathe. and although his body cries otherwise, you speak breathlessly, a hint of a smile in your tone, "did you feel that shell? it was my favorite kind to collect growing up," and he smiles because he learns what it is to collect something as valuable as the shells, your lips.

with nearly 3 months of knowing you, there was a shift in satoru's chest one wednesday morning as you excused yourself for a call.

"...of course I don't! you think I want to live with him?" you ask, voice laced with disgust, "I won't be tied down like that again and you know it, Kiro. I'll be cursed if I have to be with someone like him again. you know I'd never stay for someone like that. It's dead weight on my shoulders, and I won't have anything but pity on him." your words, from the end of the hallway send daggers at satoru's heart.

"yes, I'm at work, what else do you want me to do? It's not like I can just fly my way to you in such a short amount of time. you should have told me..." a long pause, "yes... he's blind," another long pause, "I get paid on the 26th, but my boss won't let me work on the 25th, so you can sleep in my bed while I get home. and wear something under the covers, okay?" somewhere, somehow satoru wanted to tell himself he was not hearing things correctly, that you were still the same girl he knew to be around, but when you returned after your call, something was definitely wrong with you.

"so, how was you call?" he asks, feigning interest, "everything ok?"

"yeah, fine, thanks." you breathe, tired, opening the book in your hands, "chapter 21, the last spring."

one week later.

as much as he wanted to deny it, satoru was beginning to think you had changed. what was it? was it him? the kiss? the way he grabbed you? or have you finally had enough of these little visits that could have been masked as pity for a young man like him?

when the 26th passes, he does not ask what your plans are. as much as he wants to ask, he thinks it's not of his place to ask. is he doing the right thing? he doesn't know. it certainly doesn't ease the unpleasant feeling bubbling in his stomach.

"do you have a favorite treat?" you ask. caught off guard, he nods.

"kikufuku," he tells you, "when I was in high school, there was this elderly couple that had a kikufuku stand and they used to have the best ice cream fillings."

"I thought kikufuku was cream based?"

"It was, but not to them. their ice cream filling was one of a kind."

"when was the last time you had some?"

he laughs, "years ago. I'm pretty sure they ended up closing because the wife died, and she was the only living relative who knew how to make it."

"that's too bad."

"I know, but at least they were happy doing what they did." satoru then changes the subject, shifting the focus to a lighter topic.

on december 6th, satoru recieves a call.

"I told you, you don't have to call me sensei anymore," satoru groans, throwing a wooden sword towards yuuta, catching it flawlessly.

"why not? you've always been my sensei. or would you rather us call eachother cousins?"

"you're right," answered satoru adter a long moment, earning a laugh from his former student. "so what was it you wanted to talk about? clearly it was not to train, so what is it?"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"well you could've just called..."

"you haven't trained with us in a while," yuuta sighs, "everyone. we don't really know what you're up to these days."

and he was right, but satoru would never admit it.

"what?" he asks, almost faking offense, "can't your sensei go on vacat-"

"-utahime sensei says you've been in your home a lot," he clarifies, "only few of us know. toge, panda, yuuji and I."

"what about megumi?"

"he's kind of in his own world," yuuta sighs, placing his weapon down before taking a seat next to gojo in the training room. "he knows things haven't been easy."

"you've kept an eye on him and yuuji like I asked, right?''

"to a degree," he admits, "I can't have them open up so freely because I'll always be their upperclassmen, but you... you're..."

"I get what you're trying to say." he answers flatly.

"you do?"

he nods.

"can I walk with you to your home?" yuuta asks, "there's another thing I'd like to ask, personally this time."

satoru finds himself agreeing with his younger student, what else could he do besides that? as the two walk, satoru finds himself giving advice he didn't think he could give, advising the student on what shall become of him now that he's already over age and in his own right to choose his destiny.

as he advises his pupil, satoru finds himself wondering the same for himself. he's turning a year older in 2 more days, what will become of him? what will he do? what does this mean in relation to kenjaku's damned curse? it aggravated him. upset him how everything felt so secure, almost ideal weeks ago, but now his life felt back in square one, returning to his home that he had grown used to be alo-

"surprise!"

not one, nor two, but several familiar voices called from the inside of his open, making satoru freeze in shock.

"surprise! we thought we'd surprise you sensei" panda's voice rang.

"he's right!" another voice, yuuji's appears, "we thought about making a little get together with our favorite sensei..."

"obviously someone had to plan this," satoru turned, stunned when shoko's voice came into play. "you?"

"no," she chuckles, turning to you but you quickly shake your head, reaching for utahime, "it was utahime!" you call, "she wanted to plan something nice for you."

"aww well aren't you sweet?" he grins tauntingly at utahime who can't help but send daggers your way as shoko muffles her laugh.

for the duration of the party, satoru is accompanied by his co-workers, friends, and students. he hears more about what they've done. what travels they have accomplished, and what romances some of them have experienced all while they share laughs. all while satoru searches for yours.

you stand a respectable distance away from him, deciding it would be best to let his friends and students take over since he hasn't seen them in so long. you weren't as special as they were, only having known satoru for the least amount of time, a part of you felt like a stranger. not that anyone made you feel left out, no. everyone was kind to you and even appreciative for your presence. however, you spent a whole majority of the party not talking to satoru, as if you weren't there.

when it came time to cut the cake, everyone who was an adult was nearly drunk. the students, all joyously supervised by ichiji laughed as they shared a group photo. yuuji, satoru's student mentioned something about adding the photo as his lockscreen, causing everyone to burst out laughing from ichiji's protests. everyone looked happy, with a twinkle in their eyes as the end to the party came to an end.

the students and ichiji were the first to leave, then shoko and utahime finding balance in one another, leaving you alone with satoru in his home.

"you didn't drink, huh."

"I don't really drink in social events." you shyly admit, scratching the back of your neck as satoru does not face you, looking towards the door where utahime and shoko left not long ago.

"you thought you were social?" his words take you by surprise.

"I, um.... I talked to your friends." you say, "they were very nice."

"I barely heard you."

"that's because you were probably occupied talking to the others-"

"-you didn't talk to me." he finds himself saying in annoyance.

"I didn't want to take your day away,"

"from who?"

"you."

"there's nothing to take from me."

"yes there is," you tell him. "your attention. you haven't seen your friends in-"

“they all pity me.”

“what? no they don-”

“-you’re not blind. people don’t… they don’t look at you like some pity animal, just waiting for you to fuck up.”

“you are not a pity....”

“oh yeah?” he breathes, ragged. “then why the fuck did you agree to read to a blind man?”

there was some silence, regret pooled at the back of your throat and then a shift in your weight as you stood. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. I like you, “I- I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I- are we…?”

“I don’t think we should be seeing each other,” he expresses. “not for a while,”

“a while?”

“yeah, a while.’’

“do you… want me to leave?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Do you want me to come back monday?”

“I don’t think so,”

when you left, satoru's jaw tightened, hands now fisted by his sides and a body so rigid one might think he were frozen in place. satoru stays like that for several moments, eyes nearing a burning sensation as he focuses on where he would imagine the door is, almost expectantly waiting for your return as if this were a dream.

but it wasn't.

and as the minutes pass, he paces his living room. hands running over his hair.

he had done wrong.

"ichiji," his voice almost broke, dry and borderline desperate. “I…” I think I fucked up, “I want you to pick up y/n. She just left my place, but she doesn’t have a car.”

"I already did," he says, "she said just that."

“Did she tell you anything?” he finds himself expecting.

“not really..."

“how did she look?”

normal? Ichiji wanted to say, didn't you just see her? but the tone in satoru’s voice confirmed that he did something to leave you so quiet after the party. 

“she was quiet,” he tells him, “...maybe she was tired from the party. you know, she organized it herself.”

“she... what?”

“yeah. utahime helped her bring the cake. she needed someone to drive while she carried the cake because she didn't trust anyone to hold it the 20 something minutes it took to get to your house. she told me she was trying to look for someone who knew how to make ice cream kikufuku and ended up finding the niece of the old owners of a shop she said you used to frequent. after long convincing, she was able to get the niece to help. I’m pretty sure she made the cake, with the help of the niece of course. she also made the dinner, and even had shoko bring in the drinks along with candles that your friend forgot to bring, — so I guess she was just tired, right?”

Satoru was speechless. unsure if it was the fact that you did so much for him or the fact that he had never heard, in his entire life, hear ichiji speak for so long with such conviction, it was everything he needed to hear.

right? the words in satoru's mind, head pounding with everything and anything relating you. and on the other side of the line stood a confused yet almost concerned ichiji.

"hello? are you still there?"

"yeah," he answered dryly, "is... is she home safe?"

"of course, I dropped her off." but it sounded like, why wouldn't she be? to which satoru felt like it wasn't a good enough answer. he needed to see, hear that you were okay. and he was afraid that he was regretting his words so easily.

"satoru," now serious, ichiji's words pulled him from his thoughts, "are you still there? what happen-"

"-I fucked up," he choked, "I... I said things I shouldn't have..."

[sicksorrows]

honestly I dont give a fuck about anything as long as nanami is okay

[skrunksthatwunk]

blorbo bingo blorbo bingo. blirngbo. blorngo. :) blorbingio

even if no one interacts w this i was giggling kicking my feet etc deciding who i'd put on here. but also lmk who you can check off as (minimum) a silly guy of yours. @accurzed @nyarlathesleeper @seventhstone and idk whoever wants to join yk. i am personally and directly enabling you to make a favorite character bingo

[myykster]

big fat jjk art dump to prove i'm still alive and my jjk au called "Different Fates"

[gojoest]

pausing my delulu for a sec and thinking about being nanami kento’s wife post shibuya. if you knew what would happen that day you would’ve savored the sandwich he made for you for breakfast better. maybe you would’ve left some for the day after, just to trick your brain that he was still there, that he quickly fixed it for you before heading out. you wouldn’t have washed his coffee mug that he left on the counter. you wouldn’t have changed the bedsheets, you wouldn’t have tossed his pajamas in the laundry basket — the ones that were carefully folded and placed next to yours by none other than kento himself — just so you could keep his scent there for longer. if only you knew what would happen on that day, you would’ve kept what he last touched on its place, just like he left it

[kannra21]

Gege rly said "I never felt a woman's touch and now I'm going to make it everyone's problem"

[anuntitledpng]

東洋空想世界「blue egoist」 (12/8 12:00 and 17:00) is available for streaming until 12/15, on theater-complex.town

(it is entirely in japanese with no subtitles, but theater-complex.town itself is available in english and does not require a japanese credit card or a vpn.)

this piece is just very, very good. it was promoted with purposefully minimum prior information, so this is all i should tell you: it's just very, very good.

i and my sister still haven't stopped yelling at each other about it since the opening day, both in person and on the spreadsheet we're using to draft the subtitles.

...yes. i'm already halfway through the first draft for the english subtitles.

p.s. the title of m3 (pictured above), which we had all been calling "Fiction", has turned out to be "不iction". it is so clever, and i'm going mad with all the implications it has on the translation.

[lemongogo]

guys ngl this reinforced my desire to table like 1009933fold i want to sooo bad .. one day we will..i have 2 believe it