#yoichi nagumo x reader

[faintrustle]

NAGUMO YOICHI in a black tank top with tattooed biceps showing can kill me any way he pleases.

[uzurakis]

Yess so glad to see more Sakamoto days fans 😏 may I request some Nagumo headcanons with him being in a relationship, kinda curious about how’d he be like in an argument with s/o

ೀ ׅ ۫ . YOICHI NAGUMO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS ?

SFW and NSFW under the cut!

n. i just recycled and elaborate the sfw ones from the asked i got from my 🎲 anon, added other things also. i love writing my stinky rascal . . hope u enjoy ^3^

the dynamic in a relationship with nagumo will be natural & playful so it allows the relationship to develop organically. your relationship with him is built on a foundation of mutual understanding and subtle communication. instead of a formal confession, his consistent flirting and genuine expressions of affection serve as his way of showing his feelings.

his love languages would be heavy on physical touch, means that he expresses and receives love most profoundly through physical closeness and touch. accepts pda; in fact, he prefers to take the lead. never let him take his hands off of you, somehow. pulls you by the waist and gives you a nosy kiss. he enjoys spending quality time, although his profession occasionally prevents him from doing so. however, he will make the most of his time with you while it is available.

really clingy in private. won’t let you get out off the bed by hugging you from behind. he’s also the big spoon most of the time.

he talks in his sleep when he’s comfortable with you, murmuring about how much you mean to him and lazy smooches here and there. likes to pretend to be asleep as well so you continue to caress him in bed when he’s ‘asleep’.

traps you in a hug every single time. nagumo just comes out of nowhere to hug you, not letting you go, and says “caught youu” and carries you in bridal style around the house.

if you love his tattoos, he definitely walks around naked in the house. also, the sign that he truly trusts you with all his life is when he tells you the meaning of each tattoo he has.

put your belongings at the topmost shelf so you need to call him for help or hides your stuffs in the most random places ever.

you guys have board and card games around the house. monopoly? uno? guess who? snakes & ladders? just name it.

i’ve seen so many times others saying he loves to play pranks, i definitely agree. intentionally getting you on your nerves just for him to apologize with another set of pranks. he’s just silly like that.

contrarily to beliefs, he likes to mull over after you guys argue and gives you space as he rethinks and reflects his actions. when he apologizes after a big fight, he takes both of your hands and swings them left and right as he explains, still teases but with a nervous smile this time.

a flirt, teaser, prankster, drama queen, what else?

he MATCHES YOUR FREAK, did i tell you he’s a nasty in bed? one hell of an experimentalist, doesn’t mind doing anything with you. his rage is huge, i’ll tell you that. vanilla? roleplay? waxplay? pegging? all down, just name it.

quickies at inconvenient times. you guys have a meeting in 10 minutes? 4 minutes is enough to do your thing in the public bathroom together.

likes to steal glances to your tits when you guys talk. i believe he’s a tit guy rather than ass. though, in public, his hands tends to uncontrollably go down to your ass when he circles you by the waist.

too good at nipple play.

nagumo likes you make you squirt, his personal favorite. however, for him, he likes it when you give him a handjob.

talks & coos to your pussy likes its you!

in bed, he likes it when you go rough, i think it’s really going to turn him on. just ride him i swear. might be one of his best times in life.

crack jokes during it, he’s quite humorous doing sex. compliments you in a funny way and says hilarious things also. expect your sex won’t be too serious and just all laughs & giggles.

doesn’t give a fuck about bounds, so semi public and publix sex are often.

@uzurakis

[wannabepoeticischiya]

You swore that he made it his vow to have a reminder of his existence for your every waking moment. That you wouldn’t spend a day without saying his name or cursing it to the wind.

ao3: for affection, for acceptance pairing: nagumo x f!reader genre: romance wc: 1.6k status: one shot

Everyone in the JAA knew you as the doll.

The living, breathing, epitome of a doll.

A cold-blooded killer.

The executioner without mercy.

A human born with no emotion.

Life hasn’t always been easy for you. To be born in a family of importance meant that you had to grow into somebody worthy enough to be important. To be recognized meant to have a hundred thousand impossible feats under your belt. To be accepted meant that you had to give up all that you were, change every angle, every vision, so you could fit into their ideals. To have been all of that at the same time meant that it left no room for anything else.

No room for sadness, nor happiness.

No room for affection, nor adoration.

No room for warmth, nor love.

No room for you.

So, who does this guy think he was? To shamelessly flaunt his undermining achievement in front of your face as though he held the world in the palm of his hand. Brazen that he was, given that he could easily boast about something you could do with your eyes closed with hands tied behind your back. That he could smile so freely like he did not just brutally murder ten people with nothing but a tiny Swiss knife.

He rose the ranks quickly, far too fast for your liking given that he was a transfer from those wimpy spy department kids. And each time he got closer to where you stand, his smile would glow brighter and brighter… until one day, it shone far more brilliantly than the sun itself.

And you hated that, more so than when your boss would rush you to get the job done a day earlier.

It didn’t deter him in his advances. Why would he relent when he knew you from when your family and his were neighbors? When he would pull at your hair and stare curiously at how your face would never contort to anything beyond that blank slate. Or from when he’d lick your ice cream to see if it tasted different from his despite it being the same flavor. When he’d barge into your room so early in the morning and demand to play with him.

He was a child. An annoyingly obnoxious entitled child.

Even now, as you transcend past a decade and a half into your lives, he remained that same child.

Unrelenting. Motivated in the best way, a pest in the worst.

You swore that he made it his vow to have a reminder of his existence for your every waking moment. That you wouldn’t spend a day without saying his name or cursing it to the wind.

He never left, serving as the sole reminder of all that you’ve forsaken to reach where you are now. Yoichi, the fiend. Yoichi, your neighbor. Yoichi, your first friend.

Many times did he push you to the edge. If he asked you where you were, you’d say you’re at the end of your limit. If he asked you where you live, you’d say in the state of annoyance. If he asked if you how you were, you’d say you’re better off knowing he’d hit the grave early.

Then one day, he asked… if you felt anything for him.

And for the first time in nearly twenty long years of getting on each other’s throats, you found no words to say.  

If he asked you about your feelings, what would you say? How would you look at him? Show him the puzzle of words that you yourself found difficulty piecing together.

Many times did he provoke you into doing something, whether it would be through aggravating you to assault, or by giving you these vague questions that leave you pondering them over for days without ever knowing the correct answer.

You wanted to believe you were smart, that your intellectual capabilities were above average—or better, above his. Yet here, in this space between annoyance and familiarity, a sickeningly fragrant flower had begun to bloom… and you didn’t know what to do.

Raised to assassinate, trained to kill. That’s what you were: a killer. There was nothing more.

Was that so wrong? To live life like a machine. It seemed like common sense to you. Because no one ever taught you otherwise. No one gave you a different way to live, showed you a new path to take. Breaking your heart for every life you took looked right. Killing your happiness for the sake of others seemed noble. Giving it all up for the greater good was for the best, wasn’t it?

There was nothing beyond you except for the eyes of a murderer. There was nothing more. So why does he look at you like that? Like you were trapped and drowning, and he wanted to get you out. Like there was an entire world waiting for you behind this wall of ice. Why does Yoichi look at you like that?

You wanted to ask him. Desperately so… why? Why do you look at me, as though you could love me?

And for that one rare moment, you snapped.

Why? You’d say, letting the years of pent-up frustration and sadness fall in rivers of silver. You didn’t understand... yet, in your heart, there was no denying it.

From way back to when you were children, Yoichi had already reached his hand out for you to take. He never left because he knew, even back then… that he was the only one you had. That you’d be lost if one more thing was going to leave you, that you’d drown and never come back if you had to give up another thing for the sake of another. If you had to choose from two equally important things: your happiness or the world?

Perhaps he wanted you to be a little more selfish. To put yourself first for a change. Because you’d spent so long asking others what they want… he wanted you to ask yourself what you want. And he’d be there to pick up the pieces of a world in ruin if he gets to see you smile.

And it unnerved you so, that it took you over a score to see him. To look to him in a different light. All that he did for you, and all that you did to him when all he ever wanted was for you to see yourself. To have you love your soul… and if he was lucky, maybe you could learn to love him, too.

The universe answered his life-long wish, so it seemed.

---

You had the biggest crush on him.

Him. Nagumo Yoichi. Your next-door neighbor from your childhood days. The one who egged you into aggravated assault. The guy who'd take a thousand bullets for you. The one who'd shamelessly dress up as a girl to get you out of infiltration missions. The one who had all the patience in the world. All the happiness in the universe could offer.

Nagumo who could have had anything in the world, anyone he wanted, all at the snap of his fingers... yet he chose to stay beside you.

You had the biggest crush on Nagumo Yoichi, your husband.

Now, there was a big difference in loving someone, and having a crush on him.

Six years you've been together. Six long years, and even still, you find yourself staring at him when he's across the room. Trailing your eyes in the fiery warmth of his wake. Feeling like a thousand fireworks are exploding in your stomach, the rhythm of your heart going a beat faster, the songs they sing submerged in saturated adoration that it leaves you blushing like a high school girl.

He makes you giddy and nervous that it leaves you looking back and forth to your reflection in any shiny surface to see if you look alright.

Whenever you go out, whether it's for official business or a date, you'd struggle to find the right outfit—the perfect choice of clothes because you want to look your best for him, to have him think that you're pretty. And if you could, you'd spend forever styling your hair until every strand will never dare to go out of place ever again.

If the phone rings, the small flickering fire of hope burns into a blazing inferno, lighting up the sky with the hopes that it's him who's calling you, that it's him who's texting you.

When he's close enough to touch, near enough to hold, you just want him to lean in and kiss you.

There was no denying it, you have a crush on your husband.

And when he meets your stare, and he smiles, like there was nothing that could ever compare to you, you’d think to yourself that you’re at the luckiest you’ve ever been. Because you had him, and he had you. He loves you… and you love him.

Even now, as he sits so boyishly on the sofa, with his legs spread out so far it leaves no room for anyone else, you just can't stop staring at him.

Thinking to yourself that out of every soul in this infinite universe, you get to be his wife.

You married that guy.

Yoichi who’d dive to the depths of the sea to save you. Travel to the ends of the universe if you asked him to. Tie a lasso around the stars and bring them all to you. Count the grains of sand, tally every heartbeat that has echoed since the dawn of time, and even then, it wouldn’t be enough to tell you how much he loves you.

You married him. Yoichi… your husband, the man at the center of your planet-sized crush. You married him. He’s your husband.

They love us, you said to him back then at the day of your wedding.

Yet he simply looked to you, I love you.

And there was nothing in this world that could ever be greater than that.

it's short bcz i'm so stressed, 11 quizzes in a span of 4 days is so... evil 😭 I legitimately do not know what kind of turn this took but it's there

[nanaosaki3940]

Feels Like A Family [Sakamoto Days]

I'm currently working on my next chapter and decided to share a small snippet of it... Please let me know if you liked it or not... 

Fanfic Name: Love In The Line Of Fire [Sakamoto Days]

Pairing: Yoichi Nagumo X OC

Nana's POV

I walked down the bustling street, my hand securely holding the small, warm hand of Hana, my cheerful five-year-old niece. The summer sun bathed us in a gentle, golden glow, casting long shadows as we made our way toward a popular dessert shop known for its delectable treats. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, chatter, and the occasional bark from dogs being walked by their owners.

“So, Hana-chan, what kind of dessert are you in the mood for today? Ice cream? Cake?” I asked, glancing down at Hana with a warm smile.

Her wide, innocent eyes sparkled with excitement as she pondered the delicious options.

“Ice cream! I want strawberry with sprinkles!” Hana replied cheerfully, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Her excitement was infectious, and I found myself grinning in response.

"Of course. We'll get the biggest ice creams they have…" I promised, imagining the joy on her face when she would see the towering scoops of her favorite flavor.

As we continued our walk, Hana suddenly pointed excitedly at something ahead.

“Aunt Na-chan! Look at that big dog!” she exclaimed, her voice high with delight, her tiny finger was directed at a fluffy, golden retriever that was trotting happily beside its owner.

“Yes, Hana-chan, it’s a very big dog. Maybe we can say hi to it on our way back…” I suggested while chuckling at her excitement, picturing the scene of Hana petting the friendly dog and her face lighting up with pure joy.

The sidewalks were crowded with people enjoying the pleasant weather. Vendors lined the street, selling everything from fresh flowers to colorful trinkets. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the aroma of street food being cooked at various stalls.

As we approached the dessert shop, the bustling crowd momentarily parted, revealing a familiar face striding towards us. It was Nagumo, easily recognizable in his signature brown trench coat, a printed shirt peeking out from beneath, and black pants. His long rectangular-shaped suitcase, undoubtedly filled with his assortment of weapons, was slung over his shoulder with a casual air.

“Yo-chan?” I called out, my voice tinged with surprise as I spotted him.

“Hey, Nana-chan! Fancy meeting you here!” Nagumo greeted, his trademark grin spreading across his face, radiating his usual infectious energy.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my eyebrows raised in curiosity as we closed the distance between us.

“I was actually heading to your place to meet up with Sakamoto-kun. But since I ran into you, I’ll stick around and we can go back together…” Nagumo replied in an energetic tone, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Did you come here to talk about the Death Row Inmate assassins?” I questioned further, a hint of concern in my voice.

“Yeah…” Nagumo responded, nodding his head solemnly, though the gleam in his eyes remained.

Just then, Hana tugged gently on my hand, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Who is this, Aunt Na-chan?” she asked, her innocent voice breaking the moment.

“This is Yoichi Nagumo. He’s a friend of mine and your dad’s…” I explained with a smile, introducing her to Nagumo.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?” Nagumo asked, his grin widening as he crouched down to Hana’s level, making sure to look her in the eye.

“I’m Hana! I’m my Daddy’s daughter!” Hana giggled, introducing herself with a bright smile that could light up the room.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana-chan!” Nagumo responded, extending a hand dramatically, his grin widening even further.

“Nice to meet you too, Uncle Yo-chan!” Hana grinned back and shook his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his with an endearing enthusiasm.

Immediately, Hana's cheerful demeanor meshed seamlessly with Nagumo's playful nature, and seeing that brought a smile to my face. Nagumo had always had a special talent for connecting with kids. His blend of cheerfulness, playful energy, and undeniable charm made him irresistible to children. They found him fun yet safe and harmless, a figure who could effortlessly bring joy to their day. Women, on the other hand, were naturally drawn to his magnetic personality, while men admired his effortless confidence and charm, often wishing they could emulate his captivating presence.

I understood that feeling all too well. My first encounter with Nagumo occurred when Taro first got into JCC. Back then I was only 8 years old while Taro and Nagumo were 14 years old; they were just 6 years older than me. At that time, Taro was just beginning his training to become a professional assassin, and through this journey, he formed a fast friendship with Nagumo. Through Taro, I came to know Nagumo, who quickly became a significant presence in my life. He was everything one could admire: charming, charismatic, funny, witty, incredibly handsome, and endearingly cute. His boundless optimism and ever-present smile created a magnetic aura that drew people in effortlessly.

Nagumo's friendly and approachable demeanor made him popular among his peers and endeared him to those younger than him. His quick wit and humor kept everyone entertained, and his genuine kindness won the hearts of many. It was no wonder that children adored him and women found him irresistible. His ability to make anyone laugh with a quick-witted comment or lighten the mood with his infectious smile had always captivated me. It was easy to see why people were naturally drawn to him.

As a child, I had admired him from a distance, and as I grew older, those feelings blossomed into a quiet, persistent longing. I had been infatuated with him, and over the years, that infatuation matured into a deeper, more profound love. Even now, standing next to him as he effortlessly bonded with Hana, I felt that familiar flutter in my heart. Despite the years that had passed, my feelings for Nagumo remained as strong as ever, a constant, unspoken presence in my life.

His charming presence reminded me of countless moments from our shared past. His ability to make anyone laugh with a quick-witted comment or lighten the mood with his infectious smile had always captivated me. Watching him now, I was transported back to those days when I first realized just how special he was. He was more than just a friend of Taro’s; he had become an indelible part of my life story, someone who had always been there, quietly shaping my dreams and hopes.

And now, here he was, effortlessly winning over Hana, just as he had won over everyone else in his life. It was a poignant reminder of why I had fallen for him in the first place, and why those feelings had never truly faded. His presence was a testament to the enduring nature of my love for him, a love that had stood the test of time and continued to thrive in the quiet corners of my heart.

Nagumo and Hana continued to chat animatedly as we made our way to the ice cream parlor, their laughter filling the air. Once inside, the shop owner greeted us with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with delight at the sight of us.

“Oh, what a cute family you are! You make such a lovely couple with your adorable daughter!” the shopkeeper remarked, looking between the three of us with a beam of approval.

My face turned crimson upon hearing the comment. I felt a rush of heat spread across my cheeks and quickly opened my mouth to correct her.

“O-Oh, we're not actually—” I began, my voice wavering slightly from the unexpected embarrassment.

But before I could finish, Nagumo, ever the opportunist, cut me off with a mischievous grin.

“Thank you! Yes, I'm quite lucky to have such a young wife and cute daughter!” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around my shoulders with an easy familiarity before winking at me.

“Yeah! We're a happy family!” Hana giggled, catching on to the playful ruse as her eyes sparkled with delight at the game Nagumo was playing. “Daddy, can I have extra sprinkles on my ice cream?”

“Yes, anything for our dear Hana-chan! My sweet daughter!” Nagumo responded, his voice full of mock seriousness.

He tickled and hugged Hana gently, making her giggle louder, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the dessert shop. I stood there, flustered and at a loss for words. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to find the right thing to say, but all I managed was a small, awkward smile. The shop owner's eyes were full of warmth and affection, completely convinced by Nagumo's and Hana's playful act.

As we ordered our desserts, I couldn't help but notice how natural Nagumo seemed in this role. He exuded a warmth and charm that made it easy for others to believe in the illusion he had created. His dark hair and eyes matched Hana's so well that it was no wonder the shop owner had mistaken them for father and daughter. With my presence completing the picture, it was easy to see why she had assumed we were a family.

“Here you go, a big strawberry ice cream with extra sprinkles for the little princess…” the shopkeeper said, handing Hana her treat with a fond smile.

“Thank you!” Hana exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she took her ice cream.

Nagumo and I both received our own desserts and coffee and he, in his usual generous manner, took care of the bill before we made our way to a cozy spot at a small table. Throughout the entire interaction, I could feel the amused glances of the other customers, and it only added to my flustered state. Sitting down, I couldn't help but glance at Nagumo, who seemed entirely unbothered by the whole situation.

“Enjoy your treat, everyone!” the shop owner called out as she returned to her work.

Hana, her face lighting up with delight, dove into her strawberry ice cream adorned with colorful sprinkles.

“This is so yummy!” Hana exclaimed between giggles, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“I'm glad you like it, Hana-chan!” Nagumo replied warmly, casting a fond glance at her before turning his playful gaze toward me. “Nana-chan, you were positively adorable back there, all flustered and blushing.”

“Yo-chan, you really shouldn't have played along like that. It was embarrassing!” I chided, a slight frown betraying my lingering embarrassment as my cheeks retained their rosy hue.

“Oh, come on, Nana-chan. It was harmless fun!” Nagumo chuckled, tousling Hana's hair affectionately as she giggled along with us. “You should have seen your own expression! And besides, Hana-chan seemed to get a kick out of it.”

“Yeah, Aunt Na-chan! It was so funny!” Hana chimed in, her laughter bubbling with infectious joy.

“But you have to admit, we made quite a convincing family…” Nagumo teased with a mischievous smirk.

“Still, you didn't have to... to...” I huffed, crossing my arms and searching for the right words.

“To what? To acknowledge how lucky I am to have such a beautiful young wife and an adorable daughter?” Nagumo interjected playfully, his grin widening. 

“Stop teasing me, baka!” I scowled, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

“You two are funny! Just like a real mommy and daddy!” Hana added with a wide grin, clearly amused by our banter.

Despite my initial embarrassment, I couldn't help but smile at Hana's innocent comment. The warmth between us was palpable in that quaint confectionary shop. As Nagumo and Hana continued their playful interaction, a sense of contentment settled over me. For that brief and sweet afternoon, sitting together like this, we truly felt like a family.

As I leisurely sipped my coffee, I observed Nagumo and Hana engrossed in lively conversation, their laughter and chatter creating a warm ambiance around our table. Nagumo, with his characteristic charm and animated gestures, was deep in conversation with Hana. He asked her about school life, her friends, and her hobbies, and in return, regaled her with amusing anecdotes about her father Taro Sakamoto during their days at JCC. Hana, wide-eyed and fully attentive, hung on every word, finding immense amusement in learning about her father's youthful antics.

Notorious for the intricate tattoos adorning his whole body, Nagumo even showcased a few to Hana which were on his arms and neck, sharing stories behind some of the designs. His playful side emerged as he performed magic tricks with his dice, deftly making them disappear into thin air, leaving Hana marveling with wonder.

Nagumo possessed a natural affinity for interacting with children, a skill that seemed effortless for him. Not everyone could engage with youngsters as effortlessly as he did. Beyond his knack for connecting with kids, Nagumo genuinely enjoyed their company. Whether it was indulging in sweets together, sharing stories, or simply engaging in playful banter, he thrived in their presence. It made me reflect on what kind of father he might one day become. I couldn't help but imagine him as the epitome of a cool, fun-loving dad—someone his children would undoubtedly adore. His inherent warmth and ability to create joyful moments would undoubtedly make him a cherished figure in his children's lives. It was a thought that filled me with a sense of certainty and warmth.

Contemplating Nagumo's future, I couldn't shake the question of whether he would ever find it within himself to settle down and create a family of his own. His career as a professional assassin, aligned with both JAA and the Order, presented formidable obstacles to such aspirations. I reflected on my cousin Taro's experience—he had made the difficult decision to exit the assassin world in order to build a family with Aoi. Their journey underscored the sacrifices and challenges inherent in balancing a life of danger with the desire for domesticity.

In contrast, my parents had boldly chosen to defy the odds, navigating the perilous waters of their profession while choosing to marry and eventually bring me into the world. Their decision to start a family despite the risks spoke volumes about their love and commitment. I had always felt their affection deeply, and their words of gratitude for having me in their lives were a testament to their unwavering devotion. I cherished the bond we shared and considered myself fortunate to call them my parents.

Turning my thoughts back to Nagumo, I couldn't help but ponder his stance on relationships and marriage. He was a different case altogether. From what I knew of him, he had never ventured into a serious romantic entanglement despite his charm and affable nature. While he had casually dated during his tenure at JCC, those interactions had never progressed beyond the superficial, likely due to the inherent risks of his profession. His profession as an assassin imposed significant barriers to forming lasting attachments, and I wondered if he harbored any desires for a more settled life.

The thought gnawed at me—did he envision a future that involved settling down and sharing his life with someone?

Presently, Nagumo remained single and unattached, with no apparent romantic interests or crushes on the horizon. If there was someone he fancied, I believed I would have been aware of it by now. And yet, despite the passing years, my own feelings for him had not waned. I still harbored a deep affection, nurtured from the innocence of childhood. Now, as a young woman, I found myself contemplating whether it was time to disclose my feelings to him.

I had grown since those innocent beginnings of admiration when I harbored a childish crush. My experiences had shaped me into a mature individual, and I knew Nagumo must see me differently now—a woman rather than the girl he had once known. If he didn't, then it was up to me to make him see me in a new light. I resolved to take the initiative in altering his perception. The thought emboldened me, stirring a resolve to confront my feelings and perhaps take a chance on love with Nagumo, despite the uncertainties that lay ahead.

The question lingered in my mind like a persistent whisper, echoing through the depths of my thoughts. If I were to muster the courage and convey my feelings to Nagumo, would he reciprocate? Could I dare to hope that he might accept me as more than a friend—a potential girlfriend, even?

It wasn't merely a matter of summoning bravery; it was about navigating the uncertainties that accompanied such a confession. Nagumo, entrenched in a perilous profession as an assassin, had forged a life defined by danger and unpredictability. His world was a stark contrast to the stability and security that traditional relationships often required. Would he be willing to venture into uncharted emotional territory, to explore the possibility of intimacy and commitment with me?

My heart fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I had known Nagumo for years, watching him navigate life with his characteristic charm and wit. Yet, beneath his affable demeanor lay a complexity that intrigued and, at times, perplexed me. Would he view my confession as an unexpected revelation, or had he perhaps sensed the undercurrent of affection that had lingered between us?

I replayed our interactions in my mind, searching for signs—subtle hints that might indicate his feelings toward me. Had there been moments when his gaze lingered a fraction longer, or his smile held a deeper warmth? Or had I been projecting my own desires onto our friendship, seeing what I wished to see rather than what was truly there?

These questions swirled within me, intertwining with memories of shared laughter, meaningful conversations, and the undeniable bond we had forged over the years. If I were to take the leap and confess my love, would it risk our friendship, or could it potentially blossom into something more profound—a partnership built on trust, mutual respect, and a shared journey through life's uncertainties?

The thought both excited and terrified me. Yet, as I contemplated the possibility of revealing my feelings to Nagumo, I knew that uncertainty was an inevitable part of love. Perhaps, in embracing vulnerability and expressing my truth, I would discover that our connection ran deeper than I had ever imagined—a bond resilient enough to weather the challenges that lay ahead.

"Nana-chan, my dear wife?" Nagumo's teasing voice interrupted my reverie, his smirk pulling me back from my thoughts. "Looks like you're lost in deep contemplation. What's brewing in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Nothing much…" I sighed softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I took another sip of coffee before glancing affectionately at Hana, who was immersed in her delight over the ice cream. "I was just thinking how much Hana-chan is enjoying herself here."

Noticing a smear of ice cream lingering at the corner of Hana's lips, I reached out instinctively, gently wiping it away with my finger before casually licking it off. Nagumo's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected gesture. In response, he theatrically smeared a bit of cream from his pastry near his lips, turning towards me expectantly.

"Honey, could you do me a favor and wipe this off?" Nagumo's request was playful, his pout exaggerated, eliciting an eye roll and a playful scoff from me.

"Handle it yourself, hubby…" I retorted playfully, tossing a few napkins in his direction.

"Aww, Hana-chan, see how mean Mommy is?" Nagumo exaggerated further, continuing the playful charade.

"Yeah! Mommy, stop being mean to Daddy!" Hana chimed in, giggling mischievously as she joined the game.

"Okay, you two, enough!" I laughed, pretending to scold them both, before reaching out to playfully pinch their cheeks simultaneously.

Our laughter filled the air around us, creating a warm, lively atmosphere in the cozy confectionery shop. As we bantered and teased each other, I couldn't help but revel in the joy of the moment. Despite the teasing and the playful dynamics, there was an underlying warmth and closeness between us. It felt almost like a glimpse into what a real family might feel like—filled with love, laughter, and genuine affection.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a gentle glow over our little tableau. Hana's laughter echoed in the background, blending with Nagumo's teasing banter. In that moment, surrounded by sweetness and laughter, I couldn't deny the fondness that had grown for Nagumo over the years. He had become more than a childhood friend; he was someone who understood me deeply, someone who brought lightness and joy into my life.

As we enjoyed our treats and shared moments of lightheartedness, I couldn't shake the lingering thought—the possibility of what could be if I dared to express the feelings that had been quietly simmering within me. It was a daunting prospect, yet one that held the promise of something beautiful and profound.

But for now, I was content to bask in the warmth of our playful camaraderie, savoring the simple pleasures of being together in that cozy corner of the world, where laughter flowed freely and love lingered in the air.

Read the whole fanfic on Wattpad and Quotev -

[totallybakedcake]

A day?

I have been dying for Nagumo content but no one is currently uploading fics for him so I have come up with 2 ideas so help me pick

Option 1

𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ..

𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

As she felt adrenaline rush through her body, She felt a boost in energy as she felt them lagging behind.

Before she knew it, she saw broken glass as she turned her face around to see.

Kιȥυɳα Sαιƚσ

"I want to live if there is God somewhere. I pray; I beg for a chance. Even if it needs me, change everything and leave it all.

His eyes widened as he saw the sight in front of him. Desperate running and gunshots as blood spilled everywhere.

ռǟɢʊʍօ ʏօɨƈɦɨ

" I cannot express it but it is comforting?"

The sight in front of her would be something she would never forget. All she could do in that moment was be thankful to whoever God or entity helped her in this dire time.

Chapter 1- ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇩​​🇪​​🇸​​🇵​​🇪​​🇷​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇮​​🇲​​🇪​​🇸​

OR

Option 2

α ηєω вℓσѕѕσм

ᴬ ᵗᵉᵃʳ ᵈʳᵒᵖ ᶠᵉˡˡ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʰᵒᵗᵒ

​🇳​​🇴​​🇹​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​🇼​​🇮​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇪​​🇻​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇧​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇦​​🇲​​🇪​

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺

𝕴 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖍𝖎𝖒

ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏᴏ?

You and Nagumo had a love-hate relationship. You, him, Akao, and Sakamoto were friends? It would mostly be all of them dragging you along, as every time they would get into trouble, you could save them. It would annoy you, but still, it would be fun to join them. They knew it; every time Akao and Nagumo would tease you, it would end up with you covering your face and trying to hide.

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?”

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[pfpanimes]

⌕ sakamoto days - nagumo.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

[ladybyakuya]

| HIGH IN LOW PLACES + natsuki seba & yoichi nagumo.

+cw. — fem!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, canon typical themes and elements, mention of alcohol and drinking,ex.plicit smut{ mention ofunprotected, oral acts }, slight angst and fluff.

+wc. — 2k.

+syn.— how do they generally spend their off day ? Is it any different when you're with them?

+notes. — my sk days debut post. yay! yay! i just caught up with it and im still making memes in my head ( yeah, its that bad </3)tap the banner for better quality </3 cuz tumblr made it so whack after upload. the title is from a song by beach weather ( one of my recent favs ). i have some more wips on sk days but lets see if the starts align or they go against me. wanted add two more characters but i got carried away while writing. so next two for next weekend ig. if you catch my favoritism, then good. go ahead & exploit it ;) | redirect to blog navigation.

✦ natsuki seba : 

The sun has not even kissed the horizon yet. It is still afternoon. Natsuki was busy building one of his work-in-progress weapons as usual even though it was an off day. The JCC is not exactly asleep but is surely a little doused today. JCC never sleeps. You are in his dorm room, waiting for him to finish his work at least to a certain stage and then have lunch with you but you doubt he is barely aware of what time it is. You are not exactly hungry, at least not for those wet soggy noodles but you do miss him even though he is right in front of you. There are times when you have to feed him lunch so that he can keep working. The dorm room is small for two but given the habits of you two, it always works out, somehow. You sleep when he is working while he sleeps when you are busy or out to get something. But currently, sleep is nowhere to be found at the banks of your eyes.

“Natsu, come eat with me,”

Seba turns his head at first and gives you a look; a look that clearly states: “Are you mad?” Do you know how ridiculous you sound? His eyebrows grow closer while his lips pucker forming a pout and then he goes back to working again. He is mocking you. He is working while you sit idle and flip through a porn magazine from his collection. It’s funny because the porn magazine is not his. It is from Shin. He was just looking out for him. Shin thought it was highly uncanny how a guy could make weapons all day and night, and be obsessed with something so odd that one forgets to masturbate. Doesn’t even have the urge? Or better does his curious side not think about such self-pleasurable prospects? Well, what would Shin know?

“Natsu, come eat me out,” 

At first, he looks up from the device he was working on and then spares a glance at you.

You make yourself busy flipping through the pages of that lewd magazine. He is staring. You can feel it.

He goes back to work again but a second later he puts the miniature parts from his hand beside the device and turns his chair towards you rubbing his chin as his elbow stands on the hand-rest of the chair. He is considering it. Holy Shit. You did not mean that.

“Really? Can I?” There is a thin layer of sneer laced underneath his voice.

You closed the magazine and stood up, keeping it on his table. He looks at the cover and a chuckle escapes from his chest probably remembering how he got it or why you ordered him to eat you out; not that he would mind . . . his eyes are back on you again. “Now that I’ve your attention. Finish your lunch and then work on your project.”

“I’m going out to meet someone,” You try to leave but he grabs your wrist pulling you back in front of the bed. 

“You're lying.” he snorts out a chuckle.

“You know,” Natsuki gets up and takes slow steps towards you as you back away cornering you as he still holds your hand. “eating you out . . . that might just be the thing I need to finish my project.”

Wait. what?

Before you can ask anything he just puts you on his shoulders, walks to the bed throwing you on the mattress. For someone who is a weapon engineer, who does not spend time on fieldwork he sure has a lot of strength.

“I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get your attention that’s all.” you try to protest but it does not faze him, not even a little.

“Well you did a good job.” Grabbing your ankles he pulls you towards the edge of the bed before getting on his knees. He points to the cup noodles. “And, i’m not eating that.”

He pulls down your panties and shorts simultaneously. You do not stop him because you crave him as much as he needs this to de-stress or that’s how he would put it. Spreading your legs he places a trail of tender kisses along your thighs threatening your sanity, threatening the urge to push him away but you simply do not want to do that. You want this: him worshipping you like he used to. The moment his lips graze your entrance you arch back, hands resting on the mattress and crumpling the sheets as Seba gets more devoted to the cause. You put one of your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face deeper inclining his face a little to lap his tongue against your pussy lips. You bite your lower lip roughly before a whisper of words comes out of your mouth, “Ya know, you should return those magazines to Shin,”

“What?” he asks; nose glistening with your arousal, wet lips, cherry cheeks, and excited eyes. A curvature appears along your lips as you run your fingers through his hair and tug at it revealing his forehead forcing his eyes to close just for a second. He is still waiting for your response. 

“Nothing. Get to work,” you say and he listens to it like a good boy.

✦ yoichi nagumo.

“Is it that tasty?” Nagumo asks drinking an o-choko full of sake from your share. His face distorts feeling the strong fizziness. “How can you drink this?” his voice spikes up as he gulps it down. He hates it, hates this, that how you on every weekend would to go Sakamoto stores and buy liquor to drink out your misery. What a waste! He does not understand why you would spend your weekends drinking, especially when he is here. Sakamoto would often tell you to stop drinking but what’s the point? You nod like a good girl, buy some cup noodles and chips and after the store closes Shin arrives with the booze. Shin is knocked out on the floor already. But he is still keeping up with you not that he enjoys it but he is looking for an opportunity to make you stop and in that process, he ended up taking a few shots. He hates it, he hates this. He hates how you make drinks. It stings on his tongue. This is not because he wants to spend his off day with you. He rarely gets a day off and he can not go that to waste, can he now?

“Wanna fuck?”

You look at him with heavy eyes and a flustered face for a few seconds. “No.”

He is stone-cold sober. He is not even that drunk, to begin with. You are. You are still so dizzy and slumber threatening your eyes but you force them open divulging, “Too much work.” Ah! The slur. The slur in your voice. His head tilts as a smile breaks on his face like a plague.

“I’ll do the work.” Nagumo insists. “All of it.” His voice is low, slow. He wants to get through to you. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He does not want you to dismiss his words as just a drunken haze or something like that. He is already neck-deep in guilt for being unable to give as much time he wants, as much as the time you demand and crave from him. He can not sabotage your security but he would not deny that he likes meeting with you in secret; gives him some sort of thrill he thinks. “I promise,” he mumbly adds.

But he does not want to overdo it or wear you out. He can’t. He won’t. He is a good when he is with you. “Woah, careful.”

After moving the bottles and cups aside, now you are all on your fours crawling towards him like a cat. He can see your boobs, the nipples— everything. Wait, is that his tank top? He must have left it when he came to you here last time. He can’t remember when but he remembers he lost that one black tank top.

As you reach, your face inches away from him you lean for a kiss but he sways away. It instantly ruins your mood. He is smirking now as you are pouting. It turns into a snort. “Shin’s still here,” He points at the boy sleeping on the couch. You glance at the boy and then look at Nagumo. He is confused. You are impatient. Fuck it.

You hold on to his shoulders trying to get into his lap, legs sprawled apart and as you make yourself comfortable your legs get clamped around his waist. He does not lose his balance but rather helps you with it.

“Babe, Shin’s still here,” Nagumo repeats making you remember.

“Don’t care,” you shout and Nagumo covers your mouth with his palm while his index finger stills over his lips shushing you. You nod. It seems he got through to you.

You do not allow him to dodge him anymore.

You lean into his hand that is still over your mouth, nuzzling against his palm. He shoves his fingers into your hair, his index finger grazing behind your ears igniting your skin with goosebumps. His thumb roughly stretches across your bottom lip before you kiss the tip of it but he swats his hand away before you could suck on it; grabbing his other arm and you slide it under the blacktop. Nagumo does not squeeze your boobs. Not yet. He does not want to do it, not like this. Last time, both of you were sober and now both of you are drunk: you on alcohol and him on you. You buck your hips trying to get closer to him. 

“God Nagumo, why are you being like this? You said you'd do all the work. . .”

because it's amusing. The fact that you are scolding him with a whispering tone is making him tremble in mirth. He is barely holding it; you are frustrated, drunk, and horny. God! What is he going to do with you? Can he really hold himself back? Maybe he should not have proposed the idea in the first place. His hands are stretched, settled on the floor as he watches you: intently, nervously.

“Kiss me.”

And your lips instantly dance against his in a frenzy yet his hands are still on the floor. Even in this state, you manage to unbuckle his belt with one hand as the other works on the buttons of his shirt. It turns him on how swift you are too. You would be very skilled in his line of work. Maybe you are, too skilled that he did not even notice. Nah! you can't be a spy.

“Put it in” you command this time breaking the kiss. Nagumo was just starting to get to the good part of the kiss only to get deprived of it. He does not waste a second to abide by your said words. If he did, he might have to walk out thinking out the possibilities of how odd it was for a first meeting with you.

Strong hands against the plush of your hip as he adjusts his cock to your entrance. He pushes aside your panty before rubbing it against your entrance. Your hands squeeze the muscles of his shoulders.

“Without . . . condom?”

So, is that why he was delaying it? You thought he didn't want this but mentioned it for the sake of pity and now he is trying to get on your nerves to wake Shin up.

Your brain freezes after such a flow of info. You give him a nod.

Nagumo swallows before his cock goes inside without rubber. It's electric: the feeling of your flesh around his.

“Take me to that room,” you gasp out the words.

“What?”

“I said what I said.”

You become so handful when drunk not that he minds. He takes you to the room kicking back the door behind you to close before crashing onto the bed.

The next morning Shin has to buy a pair of black trousers for Nagumo and he does it without even questioning. He really does not wanna know what happened after he took you inside the room.

@underratedcharactercorner

@interstellar-inn

[inaflashimagine]

SINCE LAST TIME

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from. But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

pairing: nagumo yoichi x reader

wc: 9.4k

tags & warnings: (kinda) friends with benefits, suggestive themes, manga spoilers (sakamoto's past arc & assassination exhibition arc), light angst, reader was Nagumo's former spy classmate, no use of pronouns, instance of harassment/inappropriate behavior

notes: can be read as a standalone fic or the second part of a series found here. crossposted on ao3.

“Those are pretty!”

You can’t help but agree with the excited six-year-old holding your hand, though choosing the right words to voice your thoughts proves difficult. 

Your eyes survey the rest of your apartment. They seem to move quicker than your stiff tongue, less focused on the bouquet of roses on the dining table and more worried about locating the trespasser who put them there in the first place. 

The walk from the school back to the apartment didn’t take more than ten minutes. The television was still left on before you headed out. You didn’t realize how it was still programmed to the assassin channel until the JAA News anchors resumed their discussion of three wanted terrorists, their names when you first heard them a week ago as unexpected as the bloodred flowers currently staring at you.

In hindsight, wondering if you’d be able to find the culprit was a silly thing to fret over. Especially when the type of person to make such a grand gesture rarely decides to remain hidden. 

“I know, right?” exclaims a deep, jubilant voice from behind. “The florist freshly cut them from his garden, too! But how do we feel about the vase? Are the polka dots too flashy?”

The door shuts with a firm click, a sound you had already heard a few seconds ago. Because you closed the door yourself. 

You’ve never seen this man before in your life. He’s quite large, a towering figure with shadows that threaten to swallow the two of you whole. These facts make for a deadly combo and provide more than sufficient material to create a nightmare even a grown adult would struggle to escape from.

But you’ve seen that smile. You know that smile. 

It’s a hard one to forget. Clearly.

The hand enveloped by yours feels smaller than ever as you turn the curious girl around and shield her from the smiling man leaning forward to wave at her. The action gets her to peek behind your protective stance, her giggles growing louder the more your frown widens. 

“Yumiko,” you say softly, refusing to show the hint of panic beginning to seize your chest. “How about you do your drills first? I’ll review them with you in a bit.” It’s already that time of the school year when her class learns basic kanji. However, you secretly fear all those hours of practice still won’t correct her sloppy penmanship.

“But you said we’d watch Sugar’s Sweet Adventures first!” she whines, the rare protest paired with her doe-like eyes close enough to make you cave in. 

Yet your gaze remains on the smiling man in front of you. 

“We’ll do that after you finish your homework. I promise.” You give her hand two tight squeezes, your voice reedier by the second. “Please.”

“I’d listen if I were you,” he unhelpfully adds as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his white baggy pants, “because the one time I hadn’t was sooo close to being my last day on this planet!”

Yumiko laughs, a melody so light that you can feel your resolve chipping away. “You’re funny, mister!”

“Aw, you think so? Well, at least I have one fan in this household!”

“Wait, if you brought flowers, does that mean you’re staying for dinner, too?” Her black pigtails bounce with the rocking of her feet before she takes a step forward. She tugs on the strap of her limited edition Sugar backpack while you pull her behind you again. “We’re having Chinese tonight.”

“Oh, from that one place around the corner? Their pork dumplings are so delicious!”

As if to prove his point, he pats his stomach a few times and lists a few other of his favorite meals from the restaurant with a satisfied smile, leaving you stunned and Yumiko giggling once again.

“Yes! Please join us, mister!” Her gaze flits back to you, catching your mortified expression reflected in those excited dark brown eyes. “Can he join us, please?”

“Not if you don’t finish those assignments,” you cut in, the anxiety gnawing at you so intensely that you’re able to snap out of your bewilderment. Desperate for any solution that gets her far away from all this. 

But you’re not sure what shocks you more: Yumiko’s disappointed sigh or the ease with which she proceeds to simultaneously slip out her shiny black shoes and shrug off her bag. 

“Fine, I’ll do them. But only after I go to the bathroom.”

The moment you hear the pitter-patter of feet being muffled by the closing of a bathroom door is the instant you push the intruder against the apartment’s front door. The one he somehow managed to picklock without so much as uttering a sound.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Nagumo says cheerfully, his disguise gone within a blink. 

Though that smile hasn’t faltered one bit. If anything, you swear it’s gotten bigger.

“Seems like you’ve lost yours.” The grooves of your apartment key dig deeper into his neck, a tiny bead of red coloring the black spiral inked onto him. It’s a once-in-a-blue-moon achievement that would’ve made you insufferable to be around had it happened during your sparring classes at the JCC.

But when you see his pinned shoulders relax instead of resist, you remember how deftly he can flip himself out of this situation.

And how swiftly he can end yours. 

You snort derisively, trying your best to ignore the way his large eyes only seem interested in taking in the face that’s a hair’s breadth away from his. As much as his talkative nature drives you mad, you’d rather deal with his constantly running mouth over his silent one. “You call yourself a master of disguise but can’t change that obnoxious cologne you wear?”

He seems unfazed, the lazy stretch of his lips as he watches you with mild amusement infuriating you even more. “Obnoxious? How hurtful! And here I was worried that time made you softer.”

“The only thing you need to worry about is that target over your head.” Your eyes glance at the flat screen before returning to a slowly blinking Nagumo.

The tip of your tongue feels heavy with the number of questions you want to ask him. Why is he pictured in between an assassin who has long since retired and another who he swore he would kill? 

And why is he here, of all places? You already have enough on your plate to worry about. Are there others currently on his tail? The idea that more assassins may burst through this door while Yumiko is here terrifies you. 

You want to strangle him. 

“A target?” The confusion that tinges his voice is also seen in the exaggerated tilt of his head, the assassin uncaring that the action causes the key to poke further into his neck. “While I am flattered to be compared to that objectively attractive ‘Wanted’ guy, you’re confusing me for another Nagumo Yoichi. After all, I’m an upstanding JAA employee and obedient member of the Order, thank you very much.”

“Oh, cut the act,” you hiss, the flush of the toilet in the background proving how little time you have left. Leaning forward, you glimpse the silver key between your fingers beginning to turn crimson. “Or I’ll let the JAA know where their Special Class-A Extermination Target is…”

He dares to feign a pained gasp while mirth dances in his eyes. “You’d rat me out, even after I brought you these flowers? You have to admit that they’re an upgrade from last time.”

Despite it being the most inopportune time, his words bring back a rush of memories that you have no shot at ever blocking out.

The faint surprise your face undeniably showed upon opening the apartment door that one night over seven years ago–a shock that wasn’t caused by the all-too-familiar sight of long limbs occupying every corner of your couch but had rather stemmed from the bouquet of bright white roses he tossed between his hands.

White roses speckled with dark red splotches.

His thank-you gift, no doubt. 

At least his suit was clean. 

What remained uncertain was whether the present was for a favor in the past, or for a current one in his unlucky deck of cards.

You had grabbed it from him anyway, heading straight to the kitchen and swallowing a pleased sigh that threatened to leave you when soft lips grazed your neck and long arms wrapped around your waist. Ignoring the warmth in your constricted chest as fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and strands of silky hair tickled your cheek, instead attempting to focus on the scissors in your hands to cut the flower stems at a sharp angle. “But please don’t tell me those dots are bloo–”

“Nah, of course it’s not my blood!” he immediately clarified with a chuckle, the deep sound vibrating through your skin and going straight through your bones. “How was I supposed to know the dude would bleed like some stuck pig?”

“Nagumo!” You hoped he’d surmise your gasp as one of horror over his indifference, but saying his name like that the minute his hand dipped below your pants is not something even the most naive could chalk up to coincidence.

“Now, don’t act all innocent on me,” he whispered into your ear, planting a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Not when you’re the only spy who knows the whereabouts of one of my next targets.”

After placing the stained roses in a black vase, you managed to wiggle in his grasp, turning to pull on his tie before linking your arms around his neck. Unsure why the knot in your stomach seemed to tighten from his admission, one that you already saw coming the moment you opened the door. 

The more you thought about it, Nagumo rarely offered gifts of appreciation for services completed in the past. Perhaps a present of that magnitude could only be received for accomplishing a wish not even a god could grant.

If that was the case, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. The latest trail you caught wind of went cold months ago. At the very least, it was likely she was still alive, but providing him any further details would be pure speculation or straight-up lies. Despite all the classes Nagumo skipped when you two were in high school, one particular lesson always stuck with each student in the intelligence-gathering and assassin programs: a stiff body is easier to find than a constantly moving one. 

But if she wasn’t dead, then it was also very likely that she didn’t want to be found. 

Neither of you had ever discussed that last scenario—such hypotheticals were pointless in this profession, after all—but you’re sure he already knew. Even then, he still acted like a stubborn dog that refused to let go of the worn bone, as if hopeful that, maybe, just maybe, he could eventually trade it in for something of higher value. 

Hope was the last thing assassins should hold onto. Civilians who did so were often seen as optimistic or naive. But for those in your field, it got you killed.

Shaking your head, you sent him an unimpressed look. “Contaminated roses in exchange for valuable intel? Talk about unfair exchange.”

He merely blinked, blank eyes staring evenly at you before giving you a boyish smile. “Ah, of course, my bad! So would you prefer red ones next time?”

“You’re ridiculous!” And like last time, you laughed against his lips, closing the distance to push away the sinking feeling that this transaction, along with the previous ones, would never extend beyond that. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyes just as hard as you were then he’d be able to picture the one target that’s never been able to leave his mind.

Upset at Nagumo for evoking such unwelcome thoughts, you tighten your grip against him and repeat those two words.

What favor does he want now? Wasn’t last time enough?

Does he know how much you’ve risked for him? How much is at stake just because he stepped foot into your haven?

“You know, it’s quite rude to treat a friend like this!” he chides, grabbing your wrist with the key before wagging a finger from his other–now free–hand. “Especially one who saw their best friend fake-resurrect from the dead before nearly getting sliced to pieces by a senile man with a sword.”

The key clatters to the floor as your jaw goes slack, attempting to piece together the bomb he so casually dropped.

Akao Rion?

“She’s alive?” you ask, dumbfounded. Even saying it now is a foreign sensation. How? “And that’s made you a wanted man?”

And if Akao Rion is alive, then why is he here?

“Mister, how did you lose so much weight?”

Hearing Yumiko makes you recognize what else you missed amidst the chaos: the creaky sound of the bathroom faucet turning on and off; the echo of the bar soap she always drops into the sink when washing her hands; the shuffling of her feet when she opens the door.

Maybe you are losing your touch.

It doesn’t matter that for the length he was gone, you carried on normally. And it doesn’t matter that in those years you almost forgot how important he was to you. Because it makes no difference now. The time and distance apart lulled you into a false sense of security, and created an illusion that is so painstakingly obvious now– 

Everything is thrown out of orbit whenever he inserts himself into your life.

“That’s a good question! Well, you know how 70% of our bodies are made up of water? Mine is stored in all these mini balloons and your mom just happened to pop a few by accident. Crazy, right?”

“Just because I’m six doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Standing beside you once again, she reaches for a scratched-up MP3 player and a pair of oversized headphones that are all neatly tucked in her bag before peering at you instead of the bleeding man in your apartment. “Can I go to my bedroom instead of the guest room? I forgot that I left my drill book there.”

Your mouth drops momentarily before you come to your senses. The fact that she might be safer alone than with you is pathetically insulting, although that might speak more to her capabilities than yours. Oddly enough, she’s probably the wisest child you know. Not that you run across many children with your career. “Uh, sure. Do you have the spare key?”

She nods wordlessly, opting for a cursory thanks before she excuses herself, puts on her shoes, and politely asks a perplexed Nagumo to step aside. As she opens the door, the small girl cranes her head upward to spare him a plain look before she leaves.

“And my mom won’t be here until dinner. But I’ll be done with homework before then.”

You think it’s one of the few times you’ve seen someone steal Nagumo’s last words. And based on how wide his bemused eyes are, it might be his first as well.

But the pride that swells in your chest is quickly deflated with another realization.

“Wait…you thought Yumiko was my daughter?”

“Not just your daughter,” he mutters as he loosens his hold around your wrist, the action–or rather, the absence of it–reminding you how warm his touch is. 

It’s your turn to be rendered speechless, taking a step back as you fix an incredulous stare at the former-spy-apprentice-turned-rogue-assassin whose blood continues to drip onto your typically spotless floor.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he teases with the corners of his lips tugging into a knowing expression. He looks way too happy at the possibility of being a deadbeat. “You can’t deny that we look alike. Plus, you can do the math. She’s six years old, has my humor and intellect…”

You wonder if he realizes that comparing his intelligence to that of a first-grader isn’t the best demonstration of his mind at ‘its brightest’. Then again, his childish frivolity might also explain why kids seem to cling to him like a magnet.

Despite the roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and direct him to put it over his wounded neck, uncaring for how he winces at your rough treatment. As melodramatic as ever. You swore you had just nicked him, in spite of the mess he’s made with your clothes and apartment. “Just shut up and stay there.” 

“–And then you disappeared a few days after our little spat. I also remember the condom break–”

“What a spot-on analysis, Sherlock,” you spit out, picking up your dirty key before making your way to the kitchen drawers. “But you were the one who disappeared, after that night”–you falter, shaking your head furiously while grabbing a clean rag–“anyway, it’s not my fault I was assigned a two-year mission in Singapore. And you could’ve reached out anytime, especially for work matters. Other Order members have.”

Yet that number seems to be dwindling more with each passing day. You feel your fist slightly curl around the cloth when Hyo pops up in your mind. He always provided updates on how Nagumo was doing, no matter how reluctant he was to deliver them and no matter how awkward you felt receiving them. You think you would happily endure a thousand more of those embarrassing moments if it meant he could still be alive.

You guess that’s why it’s called wishful thinking.

Nagumo takes the rag from you, immediately offering a good-natured grin when he catches your eyes narrowing at how long his fingers linger on yours. “Ah, you’re no fun anymore. I was just kidding about all that!”

Your huff of disbelief is less than flattering. “Well forgive me for not being able to tell the difference between the truth and your shitty jokes after seven years of radio silence.”

His whistle rings far and low. “Wow, seven years? Has it been that long?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Folding your arms, you fling his words right back at him. “You can do the math, right? After all, I’m the one who doesn’t ‘know anything’.”

Nagumo sighs upon seeing your air quotes, scratching the back of his head with one hand while staunching the slower trickle of blood from his neck using the other. “So you are still upset over what happened that night.”

And for every subsequent night that he seemed to forget you exist.

“No, I’m upset that you show up at my home while you’re being hunted by every single assassin and spy in Japan.”

At least it’s not a total lie.

“Well, not every single member.” You can only scoff at the direction of his pointed finger.

“And what makes you think I won’t alert them of your whereabouts?”

“Because you already would’ve done so.” It’s a fact that seems to please him, based on that smirk plastered on his face. “Guess I can still call you a friend, even if you won’t formally invite me into your place.” 

There he goes with that word again. 

“No, don’t think about taking another step. I refuse to be an accomplice to whatever mess you dragged Sakamoto into.”

“Immediately taking his side? I see how it is.” For someone who sounds offended, his carefree laughter indicates otherwise. “I’ll have you know that I was the one trying to stop Sakamoto-kun. Not to mention he was the one with the billion-yen bounty! But you always did have a soft spot for him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you partnered with Uzuki. And after everything he’s done?” Though with Akao allegedly being alive, you’re still not sure what to make of any of this. It feels like you’re trying to solve a puzzle with lost pieces and several wrong ones. 

The smile on his face immediately hardens into a straight line, and like last time, that’s when you know you asked the wrong question.

“You’re missing the full story.”

Aware that you’ll fail, you futilely try to see anything past the void he expertly maintains in those eyes. Eyes that are cleverly hidden by long strands of hair. 

Against your better judgment, you take back the rag from his hand and nod, unable to suppress the tired sigh that leaves you. Or the splitting headache that follows. “I know. So tell me.” 

Once Nagumo reassures you that no one followed him (“Please, I’m a wanted man, not some half-baked assassin!”), you leave him in the living room area, make a pit stop at the laundry basket, and head to the apartment next door after letting him know that you’ll be back in a few.

“Hey there, I’m checking in.” You wonder why you bothered knocking on her bedroom door, considering Yumiko only responds after you remove her headphones, the young girl accepting your greeting with a bored expression on her face. “Are you done with your drills?”

“Hmmm, not yet. Is your strange friend still in your home?” 

You do your best to hide the twitch in your eye with an enthusiastic nod. “He is. We’ll be catching up on a few things but shouldn’t take long. I’ll come back here to review your book when we’re done.”

“And then Sugar’s Sweet Adventures?”

“Only if we have time.”

Shockingly, she doesn’t look too disappointed. “Okay. I also think you should get him a new shirt.”

That makes you pause. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of the stain,” she answers plainly, like you asked her what color the sky was. She must mistake your furrowed brows for bafflement because she elaborates with a small, uncertain smile. “It’s probably more difficult to scrub out blood on a black shirt than a white shirt because it’s harder to see where it ends and begins.”

Her mother is going to kill you.

“Right, thank you, that’s a kind suggestion for you to make. I’ll follow it.” 

“And is…he…coming for dinner?”

Pursing your lips, you search for any signs of anxiety or fear on her face. When her calm expression betrays neither, you sigh wearily. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He hasn’t told me. But I can see if he will.”

“If he does?”

“Then we’ll have to order some more dumplings.”

Yumiko smiles widely at that, her delighted laugh contagious. Her adult front tooth has started to fill in the gap of the baby tooth that preceded it, and you briefly wonder if you’ll live long enough to see when they all come in.

“Can some of them be fried then?”

“Sure thing, kid,” you say without hesitation, lightly tugging on one of her pigtails before ruffling the top of her head. “So long as you come up with a story on why we couldn’t get the steamed ones. And it better not involve me or so much mention my name.”

“Deal,” she says just as seriously, throwing in a solemn nod to demonstrate her commitment. But her toothy grin shows no sign of leaving. 

Standing up from your kneeling position you ask her one more question. “Also, can we make sure this conversation just stays between the two of us?”

But she’s already slipped her headphones back on, pop music blaring out as she resumes her writing.

As you return to your living room, you catch him holding a certain photo frame. He wiggles it in front of you with gusto, as if you don’t know what picture you placed there yourself. 

“Wow, you didn’t tell me Yumiko’s mom was a total bab–”

“...”

“I mean, a totally responsible-looking and contributing adult to society!”

“So I’m just going to ignore everything you just said,” is your surprisingly measured response, tossing him a large white shirt that you grab from the pile of clean clothes you thankfully laundered a day ago. “Yumiko thought you might want something cleaner. I’m not washing that black one for you though.”

He catches it with ease, already peeling off his baggy shirt as he puts on the new one. “So she did see the blood. Man, I bet she and Hana would get along swimmingly.”

Who? Your face scrunches in confusion, attempting to ignore the sharp stab you suddenly feel on the side. “Hana?”

“And a non-squeamish six-year-old sounds like the kind of promising candidate the JCC loves. You’re sure she’s not yours?”

You hum absent-mindedly, finding your gaze set on the new ink that accompanies numerous bruises on pale skin. He looks more banged up than normal, a strange sight to behold and one that makes you so unusually queasy that you try to brush the thought aside. Parts of the quote on his torso are blocked by thick bandages, some of which turn redder the more he moves around.

The number of assassins and spies you know with tattoos is so few that you can count them on a single hand. You always wondered why such a mysterious person whose life and career depend on the utmost discretion would willingly paint his body with such permanent identifiers. When you had first seen them–starting with seemingly random numbers on dainty fingers–you figured it would be best to stray away from such an arrogant spy apprentice. If a rookie did the same thing, they wouldn’t last longer than a month past graduation. Yet such concerns always fell on deaf ears–even during the JCC days, professors from the intelligence gathering program would chew him out whenever he walked into class with new ink. (“Oh, this? I must’ve forgotten to wash it off this morning! What a drag. Mind if I go to the bathroom to get it off? I swear I’ll be back in a few!”) 

Maybe that’s why he also transferred to another department.

“You know, you didn’t have to use the bloody shirt as an excuse to see me half naked,” he chirps with a close-eyed smile, a statement that is mortifying to hear alone, much less have it directed at you. Particularly when the new shirt hugs him tighter than you’d like. “If you politely asked, I might’ve even let you take it off me.”

Your face blooms with heat and for some unknown reason, you feel like a clueless teenager again. “Yumiko is not mine,” you reply through gritted teeth, trying to remember his original question before he nearly made your spiral. “But she is my neighbor. Her mom's a nurse with long shifts at the hospital, so I pick Yumiko up after school to make sure she’s not alone.”

“Helping your neighbors, for free?” he asks, unsure how to interpret the slight tilt of his head as he sends you a small smirk. “Maybe you have gone soft.”

“I have not ‘gone soft’,” you say defensively, shoulders taut. “Contrary to what you think, I like to help people.”

Besides, you’ve been told that you’re a nice person. You like to think you’re affable than most. Or at the very least, as approachable as a spy can be in this world. 

“Is that so? Tell me, does helping people also include killing innocent assassins on the run?”

But it doesn’t help that you always feel like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff whenever you’re around him.

If there were a way to weaponize your glares toward assigned targets you’d be the richest person in the assassin world. And the man cheekily smiling across from you would be dead a million times over.

Because if that’s an innocent assassin, you don’t want to see a guilty one.

“Hey Nagumo, has anyone ever told you that you’re a living oxymoron?”

The loud laugh he barks out sounds so nice that it grates your nerves. “As funny as ever! But on second thought, since the grannies at your last place made quite the snoopy bunch, I so get why you were reluctant to help them out.”

The mention of your previous neighbors gets a begrudging eye roll out of you. Nagumo had become such a frequent visitor at your last apartment that he, unsurprisingly, won the hearts of the two nosy, old ladies sandwiched between your unit. If he wasn’t at your place but you still heard rowdy laughter permeating the walls, you instantly assumed that he was gossiping with them over who knew what. Based on the frequent–and unsolicited–reports those two women provided you, he occasionally felt charitable enough to sort their trash and cross off a few items from their grocery lists. They had promised to not snitch on you for breaking the lease terms of authorized occupants despite your insistence that Nagumo–or as they liked to call him, the pretty boy with way too many tattoos–was not living with you nor was he your boyfriend.

“And after seeing this picture”–he, once again, waves the picture frame you repeatedly told him to return to the end table–“I completely understand your newfound passion for community service. She really is a total babe–”

You wack him in the head, which he smartly knows not to block.

“Anyway,” Nagumo says while nursing the newly formed bump on his head, “speaking of being neighborly, mind if I treat myself to some snacks in your pantry?” 

Squinting, you suspiciously eye the gleam of aluminum poking out of his pant pockets. “Good to know you still follow the values of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’.”

That youthful grin on his face never leaves, his simple shrug providing a sufficient answer when he pairs it with a familiar can of white peaches that he whips out. “Actually, I wanted to ask for a can opener. Couldn’t find it in your drawers. I’d use my handy weapon, but a juvenile delinquent ruined it the other day.”

“Oh no,” you draw out slowly once you make your way to the kitchen, deciding to hurl a chef's knife toward him despite fully knowing where the can opener is. “How will you entertain the masses without your party trick?”

Like a thrown dart, it sticks to the white wall next to him, taking some jet-black strands of hair for company. He sends you a flat look before he uses the heel of the knife to pry open the can. “At least sound a bit more devastated, will you? I doubt I can get my usual weapons maker to make another one for me right now. It truly is a tragedy.”

“The real tragedy is the little remaining time you have to tell me why your face is not only here inhaling all my food but also currently on my TV.” Pointedly peering at the clock hand that gets closer to six with each passing second, your fingers impatiently tap the kitchen island you’re leaning against. 

“So I’m taking the roses didn’t win you over? Was it the vase?”

You can only stare.

Changing into a clean shirt, being fed, and fulfilling the hasty catch-up have all been done. He’s run out of distractions and excuses, a fact he resigns to with an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.” Or at least that’s what you think he says, mouth still stuffed with food. He jumps onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “But trust me that you’ll want to be sitting down for this.”

It’s a suggestion you’re glad you heed, unable to mask your shock as he spares no detail in his account of fighting a formidable member of X’s group; of thinking he finally killed Uzuki, only to hear the voice of his deceased friend come out the body of her executioner; of learning that Sakamoto knew about this ‘copy’ Akao since Thailand and deciding to not tell Nagumo about it; of losing his status as an Order member the moment Chairman Asaki placed a hit on the inadvertent trio; and of nearly dying from Takamura’s blade until X copied the old man as well.

It’s too much to take in. This might be the only time you wish that everything the trickster just told you was fabricated lies rather than the cold truth. And there’s no way he’s lied to you about this or even embellished a detail or two. Not when you can’t recall the last time he’s ever looked this grim.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, with you just sitting there, staring at an empty aluminum can on the coffee table. Watching how the mouths of the JAA news anchors on the TV screen move soundlessly, having muted the channel long ago. 

You don’t even know where to start. Everything feels too convoluted to begin to process.

And you can tell Nagumo is feeling the same. This is the most expressive you’ve ever seen him–the way his brow knits furiously as he provides a recap of his conversation with Uzuki’s Rion, almost as if committing each word to memory lest he forgets or misses a major clue. How his eyes harden and knuckles turn paperwhite when mentioning Asaki, who claimed to have seen Rion’s death. How his face seems to lose its tension when he relays some dumb joke that Uzuki’s Rion made about Sakamoto’s weight, only to regain it when he recounts his morning encounter with Oki and the two newest members of the Order.

Meeting X was supposed to solve the biggest question that’s plagued Nagumo’s every waking moment. Yet none of this makes sense. Now, it’s only introduced more cryptic puzzles and an increasingly higher risk of death.

“I fear you’ve told all this to the wrong person,” you admit with a sardonic smile. 

Nagumo’s gaze on you is steady, unwavering. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t know how I can help you with any of this.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale deeply and try to ignore the mind-numbing panic that begins to trickle its way into your chest. “I don’t know anything about Uzuki or X or Slur or whatever the fuck his name is other than what you’ve told me. And I have no idea where he and his lame posse currently are. I don’t even know what you should do next.”

For the amount of stress he’s under, Nagumo sure doesn’t show it with his easygoing smile. “I’m not asking you to do any of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

It comes off more petulant than you’d like, and perhaps if he strained his ears, he might be able to hear the concern tinting your voice. Yet one thing is certain–you’re far from the professionally composed person you typically are during work meetings.

But when has anything ever stayed professional between you two?

He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours so that you can’t avert your gaze.

You don’t.

“The only people who know where Sakamoto and I are hiding include his ragtag group of wannabe pacifists, sweet ol’ Granny Miya, and you.”

You?

“Me?” It comes out as a whisper, and in its meekness, you’re relying on him to understand the implicit message.

Why?

“Yup!” he exclaims with an eager nod. “And hopefully, it stays that way!” Which roughly translates to ‘don’t snitch’. You’ve seen that threatening glint before. You’ve heard the hint of finality in that trademark sprightly tone of his before, his sunny disposition softening the blow that targets would undoubtedly feel just a brief moment later. However, none of that has ever been meant for you.

Until now. 

“But I will say, I’m surprised no one else from the Order has paid you a visit.”

“Well, they have, but no one’s asked for you. Oki-san needed the contacts for the two new members he recruited.” You bite your lip, mulling over your next choice of words. “Unless you’ve blabbered to Shishiba or Osaragi, I think only Hyo knew that we were…acquaintances.”

His lips quirk ever so slightly. “Hah! Not the acquaintance card. What will it take for you to say ‘friends’? Do you know how to say it? I can spell it for you.”

Your grimace is far from subtle. “Too bad I don’t have pen and paper,” you weakly joke, trying your best to not roll your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

He licks his lips, lidded eyes refusing to leave yours when he lets out a low, contemplative hum. “That’s for amateurs, which we are not. There’s other ways to teach you.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you blow out an indignant puff of air to focus on anywhere but that coy smile.

“Switching the subject once again,” you say with a dry laugh, relieved that the only stuttering that’s present is tucked away in the staccato notes of your heartbeat. “That’s when I know you’re hiding something.”

He bows slightly, eyes smoothly blocked by unruly hair. Yet his smile only grows. “Is that so?”

“What’s the other reason you’ve told me all this?” A hesitant pause before your voice lowers. “The real reason.”

You’ve always hated how he can quickly school his expression into a blank canvas when it’s impossible for you to do the same to him. It’s a skill that might be even more frustrating than your inability to read him, to break past the wall he effortlessly puts up. 

And you’re a good spy; deep down, you know this. But when your usually astute perception is impervious to his shield at every single angle, the only viable course of action is to take his next words at face value.

“Because who else will tell the truth once the JAA silences everyone?”

It’s the last thing you’re expecting him to say. Words said so breezily as if inquiring what day of the week it was.

And all you can picture is his lifeless body.

Another sharp inhale, followed by a shaky breath. Your stomach continues to drop, and you’re uncertain when you’ll be fully sunk. Every fiber in your being knows this is the wrong reaction, a sign of weakness that goes against all the training that’s been ingrained into your body since your family explained what they do for a living.

But the idea of a life without Nagumo in it feels worse than death itself.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Anything that reaches your ears sounds muffled, trapped underwater until two hands grab your face and pull you back to the surface.

His thumb strokes your cheek gently as he softly repeats your name. One. Two. Three times.

“You can’t die,” you finally say. Slowly, quietly. Almost as if you’re reassuring yourself. Your face hardens, a sharp edge to your voice. “You won’t die.”

He meets your stare unabashedly, an amused smile making its way back to his lips. “Who said anything about dying?”

“Nagumo, I’m serious.” You find your breath steadying, only for it to quicken the moment your fingers lock around his wrists. “You can’t leave…leave me.”

“I never left,” he says decisively, and right before you can get a retort in, he won’t stop talking.

“Your mission in Singapore was not only two years but two years, seven months, and twenty-nine nights. You went back to your old place but immediately found and moved into this one. Maybe because you wanted to get away from those annoying grannies, or maybe because you were afraid of me breaking in again–which I didn’t, by the way!–but I think it’s because you wanted to be closer to that used bookstore, which you visit every Saturday and only after ordering your tea latte and a chocolate croissant from the cafe next door. 

“You say you only pick up Yumiko after school, but I’ve seen you take her to each of her soccer games and sometimes to the Science Museum in Ueno whenever it’s rainy. Assassins and spies of all levels seek your intel, but you only let Order members and the Chairman into your place. Not that you have much say in that, I guess. Though what you do have control over is who you go on dates with and boy, do you go on a lot more shitty dates than good ones. That Ren was a character.”

You can’t tell if the urge to slap him is stronger than your desire to smash his lips with yours.

“Are you done?” is all you can muster. Yet in the time between you find yourself inching closer toward him, noses brushing as you take in his overwhelming presence. The smell of Granny Miya’s arnica tincture with the heady scent of smoky amber makes your head feel light and your clammy hands all tingly. 

But you can’t stop smiling.

“Hmmm, that depends,” he muses, a glance to your lips causing your stomach to flutter. “How much more time do I have before you kick me out?”

“You’re ridiculous.” More like insane.

You kiss him anyway. 

It starts slowly, hesitantly. Like you’re back to being clumsy teenagers, curious to explore what it means to carry out a mission of seduction.

Then his tongue swipes over your lips before parting them, and hunger takes over.

His mouth tastes sweet, and addicting, a warmth wholly inviting and so easy to get lost in that you can’t stop your content sigh. It’s all-consuming, and you pull him down with you, grabbing onto the front of his shirt as you sink into the couch together. 

His arms keep you trapped, though you don’t think you mind, legs wrapped around him as you indulge in a stolen moment.

Until a flash of bright blue hair pops into your mind.

You open your eyes, unclenching your fist from his shirt and recoiling like you’ve touched a hot stove. And all of sudden something that felt good feels so incredibly off.

“What?” He’s as breathless as you are, though his body still hovers over you, long hair tickling your forehead while you’re surprised to see the worried crease form on his. “What’s wrong?”

“Us,” you blurt out, cheeks hot from shame. “I can’t be her. I never will be.”

Dark eyes study your face as you feel his hands drift to your back. He lifts you with him until you’re back to sitting across from one another, and for a second you think he might leave right then and there.

And then he captures your lips again.

This kiss is fleeting, but softer, a tenderness that you didn’t think he had. A gentleness you don’t deserve.

He parts to look at you once more, a lone finger tracing your cheek with the caress of a lover.

“You don’t need to be her,” he murmurs against your lips, feeling the flutter of his eyelashes and his unyielding gaze. “I don’t want you to be her.”   There’s a gradual levity in your chest, a foreign sensation that makes you realize how weighed down you were.

You want to bask in it, drink in more of the giddiness he seems to get out of you so easily. And when he leans in to gently nip at your bottom lip, you find yourself caving in.

A feeling short-lived when the timer in your phone goes off. 

Nagumo doesn’t take the interruption to heart, a breathy laugh fanning your neck as you reluctantly peel away from him to stop the alarm. “So you did set a time limit.”

The grin you send as consolation is half sheepish, half nervous. “Didn’t think we would go past it if I’m being honest.”

He raises a brow, hands back to sliding all over you. “Ouch! Sounds like I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Your thighs press uncomfortably when feather-like touches brush over your hip.

“As much as I’d love to, we’ll have to take a rain check,” you mutter, quite begrudgingly. Struggling out of his iron-clad grip is a challenge enough, legs wobbly as you stand abruptly. When you lick your swollen lips you can instantly taste the faint sweetness of white peaches. “I have to stop by the restaurant with Yumiko before her mother arrives.”

Yet your attention keeps finding itself on the clock, the incessant ticking of the big hand seeming to mock you as you realize how little time you have left.

“So what’s actually rushing you?”

Your shoulders tense, but you shoot him a casual smile that you’re confident could rival his. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, his scrutiny intense as he stands up to observe you. “I don’t know, you tell me. I thought we were done with giving each other the cold shoulder.”

Your eyes narrow. “Maybe lay off? Sorry if I don’t want Yumiko’s mother walking in on us going at it like some horny teenagers.”

Based on the way he purses his lips, he doesn’t seem convinced. You feel like you’re being examined under a magnifying glass, an unpleasant sensation that makes your body itch all over.

And then all your ears can hear is his boisterous laughter. 

Nagumo slaps your back, hard, right before he doubles over. Pretending to wipe a fake tear, he airily says, “Civilians see us killing from left to right every day without fuss, and you think she’s gonna bat an eye at two consenting adults kissing? Gee, maybe you’re more of a prude than Sakamoto-kun!”

“Oh, shut up!” You shove him near the edge of the step to the genkan, wondering if your chuckling sounds as nervous at you think it does. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, don’t you think?”

“Ah shoot–did I just fumble my shot at a date?”

You open the door for him, trying to ignore your embarrassment with how your stomach flips from that question. Your small smile will have to be enough for him. “Yes. Yet if you focus on staying alive then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Good to see you’re still a terrible liar. But sounds like we have a deal,” says a larger man who bears no resemblance to one of JAA’s most wanted men. His voice is gruffer, but the lips that chastely brush yours hold a softness you already find yourself craving.

Then he’s gone in a blink. 

—

After making sure Nagumo didn’t swipe your phone or other valuables as he sped off, you take a few extra minutes to regain your composure before visiting Yumiko. Resting your head against her bedroom door doesn’t subside your pounding headache, and when Yumiko’s stomach begins to grumble in the middle of reviewing her homework, you finally think it’s time to eat.

“But why are we going back to your place?” she inquires, exasperation evident.

“Because I forgot my wallet,” you reply with a weary sigh. Your hands feel aimless, afraid that Nagumo’s one-liner on repaying Sakamoto for eating Hana’s ruined birthday cake was more than just a foolish joke. 

“Forgot, or lost?” 

You look up from your bent position near the coffee table. “I don’t appreciate the sass, kid.”  

“You seemed to like it when your friend acted that way.”

Mouth agape, you’re ready to rescind your offer of fried dumplings when you hear a familiar voice.

“Didn’t anyone teach you ladies how to close the front door?”

“Mother!” Yumiko calls out as she hugs the older woman’s leg. “You’re home early!”

“Wanted to make sure I made it in time for dinner. Chinese, right? Were you two about to head there?”

“Yes!” you answer with a triumphant smile as you shake the wallet in your hands. “And tonight’s on me!”

“That’s not necessary, I don’t mind paying our share…”

“I know, which is why I insist.” Just as you make your way toward the front entrance, the door still ajar, Yumiko drags her mother to the vibrant roses on the table. “Wait, what are you–?”

“I want mother to see the flowers!” The child looks at you before gazing back at the woman beside her. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

“They’re beautiful,” she agrees, smoothing Yumiko’s hair as she sends you a wink. “A gift from your boyfriend?”

Your heart nervously skips a beat. A white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

“–while the red roses are a classic option, that vase is too garish for my taste. Should I have to worry about a secret admirer?”

A shiver wracks through your spine the moment you feel his hand on the small of your back. Cold fingers linger around your waist, and it takes all your strength to look up at him and not suffocate under his bloodlust. There’s so much of it that you wonder how fast he can masterfully hide it without raising any alarms.

“Well?”

“Of course not,” you quickly assure with a shaky smile, your cheeks hurting from how wide your lips stretch.

“The flowers are from my secret admirer, Asaki-san,” Yumiko pipes up, her voice tiny among the adults. “They were too heavy to carry back home so I had some help. He told me that the florist freshly cut them from the garden, too.”

“Your what now?” gasps her mother, though Yumiko’s innocent gaze remains on you.

Is…he…coming for dinner?

You wish your eyes could convey how apologetic you are. How guilty you are for involving two completely innocent civilians into this.

Yet only adrenaline and fear course through your veins, preventing any other flood of emotions from rushing in.

“Being outdone by a child? That won’t do,” Asaki says after an impatient click of his tongue, his long earrings dangling with a slight shake of his head. He offers you a smile, but it appears more like a grimace. “I’ll have Watarai deliver a fresh bouquet of my preferred arrangement to both this apartment and my office tomorrow.”

You should change the door lock sometime soon.

You blink instead, opening your mouth before shutting it promptly. “Sure. Thank you.” Entirely cognizant of the arm snaked around you, you look at the bag in his other hand and do your best to not think about the cage you’re currently in. “What do you have there?”

“Ah, yes! I know you mentioned Chinese, but that place you go to looks pretty dismal, not to mention dirty. So I got tapas from a restaurant that just so happens to have a Michelin-star. Their food is exquisite. Watarai, you can prepare the table now, thank you.” 

The smug smile Asaki boasts seems more genuine this time, especially as his assistant–who, to no one’s surprise, materializes out of nowhere–carefully grabs the bag from his boss and begins to set the table. 

The roses are nowhere to be found. 

“You’re too kind, Asaki-san,” Yumiko’s mother says after an uncomfortable silence, the overt wringing of her hands making you wince. “But perhaps this dinner is best left to the couple?”

“Nonsense! The more the merrier!” are words he’s probably never uttered until now. 

Despite her appreciative bow, she exchanges a wary look with you before grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Well, thank you very much for thinking to include us. If you may excuse us, Yumiko and I will wash our hands.”

“But I wanted dumplings…”

“Yumiko, hurry along now!”

Once that door closes you pry his hands off you, uncaring for the disgruntled frown that tugs his thin lips downward.

“I’ve grown quite wearisome of your antics.”

“How did you know we were getting Chinese?” you focus instead, distress churning in your stomach. 

Asaki gives you an unimpressed look, like you’re roadkill that the tires of his car had the misfortune of running over. “Now, we’ve gone over this before,” he sighs despondently, already trying some of the cured meat on the plate Watarai had placed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

Your mouth feels like sandpaper, finding it harder to breathe while he appraises you chillingly.

Two times a day. That’s how often you check each corner and room of your apartment for anything amiss, how often you look through each gap and crevice for a camera, and how often you run your finger along each smooth surface for any hidden microphone that might’ve been placed in the time between those two moments you check daily.

The first time you removed the small mics placed in your rooms was his last attempt at bugging your house. Or at least, to your knowledge. 

Your phone rests in the back pocket of your jeans, the device feeling particularly heavy. You take it out and think of all the conversations he’s heard. All the messages he’s read. 

How silly of you.

Despite the urge to chuck it against a wall you remain frozen, save for the slight tremble of your fingers that can also be heard in your voice.

“I don’t know anything.”

Asaki walks, the click-clack from his Italian leather derby shoes reminiscent of a clock ticking away the last precious seconds of a bomb about to go off. You watch him through the mirror that faces him, but his eyes only look forward. He adjusts his black tie and wrangles a loose dark streak of his hair back into place. 

“Now might serve as a perfect reminder that lying to the Chairman is a JAA violation punishable by death.”

Clearing your throat makes the dryness in your mouth worse. “And what if I’m speaking to my…boyfriend?”

Black eyes shift to meet yours, examining you with a coldness that makes winter seem like summer. 

“Then perhaps I’ve far overestimated your abilities, and your use to me.”

You’re fine with dying. Ever since you were a student, all the training you’ve received was concentrated on preventing it. But you’ve experienced far too many brushes with death to sincerely believe that the job you love won’t be what kills you. If anything, the JCC only taught you how to delay death, not avoid it entirely. 

And so you’re fine with dying. With each close call, you update your will. Yumiko and her mother will receive the majority of your assets because you don’t really have other friends and family to give it to. Maybe some assassins and spies you’ve worked with will take a second to say your name when they hear the news in some passing conversation. Have it linger on their tongue as they maybe recall a foggy memory of you before they continue with their day. Death is simply a sped-up inevitability for you all, so you’ve long accepted that it can happen today. Tomorrow. Or now.

But he can’t die. Losing him once was enough.

“Is everything alright?”

You want to tell Yumiko it will be but as he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression, you figure it might be best to stop lying to the child.

“Sir,” Watarai interrupts, standing behind Asaki and bowing curtly, “I apologize for the interruption, but your presence is requested by the executive board.”

A sigh of instantaneous relief bubbles up in your throat until you glance down at your phone and spot the alert that appears on the screen.

JAA NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK ON JAA-OWNED WEAPONS FACTORY

Your heart drops.

A lax smile rests on Asaki’s passive face. “I see. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our visit short.”

“You won’t be taking the food with you, right?”

“Yumiko!”

He tilts his head toward the young girl and her scandalized mother, his closed-eye smile an off-kilter sight to see. “Well, aren’t you…precocious. Treat yourself to whatever! You’ll find the taste is much better than those greasy dumplings. Watarai, let’s hurry along now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yet his smooth strides don’t betray any urgency, eyes focused on the prey he approaches.

He kisses your cheek, your skin burning from the contact. It’s a clever position he’s placed himself in, the tall man blocking your figure and preventing others from seeing the exchange. Mere seconds feel like an eternity as a horrible combination of shame and cold dread wash over you.

“Next time, tell our friend to stop wearing that obnoxious cologne,” he whispers into your ear, his disgust ringing loud and clear. “I can smell him all over you.”

You can’t breathe.

He straightens and pats your tense shoulder. And then he leaves, the door finally locking with a short click.

Your head is spinning, panicked and scattered thoughts leaking out the tiny box you thought you could contain. You think you hear your name being called but your body seems to have lost all function, knees striking the floor. And that’s when you see it, just an arm’s distance away. 

A fallen rose petal.

end notes: me struggling to come up with a name for this fic: [insert preposition here] + last time. and you can bet i'll do it for the next one

i was rereading the manga and nagumo's comment about the chairman–"he does whatever he wants. and he'll do whatever it takes to achieve his goals"–inspired me to include that horrible man here. idk it just felt fitting :)

[choccorin]

just a little ramble i wrote at 2 am. ooc nagumo !!

nagumo loves it when you trace your fingers on his tattoos. he loves how gentle and soft your touches are, he loves it so much that he could fall asleep just by you tracing them. it helps him relax and it keeps his mind off of work. he loves it when you kiss them too and also when you play with his hair while tracing them, like he'll lay his head on your lap and ask you to play with hid hair and trace his tattoos. if he's not asleep afterwards, he'll reach for your hand and kiss them as a thank you. :]

[faintrustle]

There's something so sexy about NAGUMO YOICHI's nape.

[uzurakis]

as a fellow nagumo lover, how about i request nagumo saving reader (who’s also an assassin) while she’s badly injured and teasing her as she recovers 🙃

your eyes flutter awake, and you're greeted by the sight of yoichi nagumo lounging in a chair by your bed, his feet propped up on the edge. those dark eyes light up the moment he sees you stir.

"well, look who's decided to join the land of the living~!" he exclaims, a wide grin spreading across his face. awhile ago, you slowly regain consciousness, the beeping of the hospital machines faintly registering in your ears. the body of yours feels heavy and sore, memories of the mission flooding back; remembering the ambush, the fight, and then the pain. but most of all, you remember nagumo’s face, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he saved you. and you don’t see that often, never, actually.

you try to speak, but your throat is dry, and all that comes out is a croak. nagumo jumps up, leaning over you with an exaggeratedly concerned expression.

"oh no! have you forgotten how to talk? i guess i'll just have to handle all the conversation from now on," he says, feigning a dramatic sigh.

you roll your eyes, managing to croak out, "water."

he grabs a cup of water from the table, but instead of handing it to you, he holds it just out of your reach. "first, you have to answer a riddle. what has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?"

"nagumo, seriously?" you rasp, your annoyance mingled with a slight, very tiny hint of amusement. man, i just woke up, you say in your head.

he only chuckles and finally gives you the water. "fine, i'll let you off this time. but only because you look like you’ve been through a meat grinder."

the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you take a grateful sip. "thanks.. for the rescue," you manage to say.

nagumo waves his hand dismissively. "oh, don't mention it. just another day in the life of your favorite assassin."

don't mention it, he says with a casual wave of his hand, his trademark grin firmly in place. but beneath that easygoing facade, he's a whirlwind of emotions. the memory of finding you bleeding and unresponsive still haunts him, a gnawing fear that he might lose you forever. he can still feel the cold dread that settles in his stomach when you don't respond to his frantic calls, the way his heart pounds in his chest as he carries you to safety. every step is a desperate prayer that you'll hold on, that you'll survive. seeing you lying so still, so vulnerable, shakes him to his core. regardless of his lighthearted demeanour, he can't shake the residual anxiety of nearly losing you, the concern that one day his abilities may be worthless to keep you safe.

"favorite, huh?" you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the pain.

"absolutely," he says, winking. "and you know, you gave us quite a scare. i mean, i had to carry you all the way back here. do you have any idea how heavy you are?"

you glare at him playfully. "maybe if you weren't so scrawny, it wouldn't have been a problem."

the guy laughs, the sound infectious. "touché. but really, you had us all worried. even sakamoto looked like he might actually break a sweat."

"i'm sorry," you say softly, feeling a pang of guilt for the trouble you caused. “i really thought it could handle them by myself. sorry..”

nagumo's expression softens for a moment, his usual levity giving way to genuine concern. "hey, don't apologize. i've got your back, and you've got mine. besides, it’s not like i’d let anything happen to my favorite partner, riiight? why are you looking at me like that?”

before you can respond, he suddenly leans in close, a mischievous glint in black pupils. "oh, by the way, did i tell you? i told the nurses you’re afraid of needles. so they might have a surprise for you when they come to change your IV."

your eyes widen in horror, and he bursts out laughing at your reaction. "relax, i’m kidding. or am i? guess you’ll find out soon enough."

"you rascal," you mutter, shaking your head.

"you owe me a box of pocky sticks," he says with a grin, leaning back in his chair.

despite the pain and exhaustion, you can’t help but smile. "i guess i do."

he reaches over and gently squeezes your hand. "get some rest. i’ll be here when you wake up. and who knows, maybe i’ll have another riddle for you."

"great," you say sarcastically, if it’s not for your injuries, maybe you’ve already thrown a pillow at his face. though, you know you can always count on him to be there for you, pranks and all.

@uzurakis

[jasminerva]

What kind of father would Nagumo be?

Saw this magnificent fanart of Papa!Gumo by GOOSANG04 and got inspo!

This is Part 1 of the Papa!Gumo series!

gn!reader co-parent

Check out Part 2 here: You v. Nagumo and Toddler

Want more? Check out my SakaDays Masterlist!

Comments, reblogs, tags appeachiated~! 🍑

Banner img from Gakuen Babysitters by Tokeino Hari.

If you manage to get this man to settle down AND have a kid with you, he (and your kid) is going to make your life a living hell and heaven.

Nagumo would be an unpredictable but fun dad, always coming up with spontaneous activities to keep his kid happy and entertained.

He'd pull small pranks on and with his child, like hiding their favourite toy or sneaking up on them, just to see them laugh when they catch him.

You know peekaboo? Think to the EXTREME! Gumo covering his kid's eyes and VOILA he's a whole 'nother person! (Warning: this may or may not traumatize your child, like, have you seen the videos where babies cry after their dads just shave their beards???) Soon, I'm sure the kid will get used to it and can tell when their dad is disguised better than you can.

Despite his carefree attitude, he'd be fiercely protective, always keeping an eye on his kiddo from the shadows to make sure they're safe.

He'd make teaching self-defence a game, showing his child how to be quick and nimble without making it feel like a strict lesson.

Nagumo would struggle with deep emotional conversations, but he'd always be a good listener when his child wanted to talk, especially if they were feeling down. He'd be on their level (much to your chagrin.)

On that note, you most likely will have to be the 'mean' to his 'fun' parent. Don't even get me started on the 'birds and the bees' talk. He might even volunteer to do it, but I wouldn't count on him to do it properly.

Physical affection would be a big thing for him—playfully ruffling his child's hair, giving them gentle pats on the back, blowing raspberries on their cheeks and bellies, or even picking them up for a hug and swinging them around. Just keep an eye out in case he starts throwing the kid in the air (you can trust him to always catch them, but you don't want either of them getting too carried away).

He'd probably joke around with other parents and show up at school events unpredictably, causing a stir with his antics, but always making his child feel proud and loved.

Nagumo would encourage his child to be independent, letting them figure things out on their own while secretly making sure they're safe every step of the way.

When it comes to advice, he'd drop bits of wisdom disguised as offhand remarks, teaching his child important life lessons in the most unconventional ways.

He wouldn't follow a strict parenting style, instead preferring to give his kiddo the freedom to explore the world, knowing he'd always be there if they needed him.

If his kid ever felt embarrassed or shy about something, Gumo would immediately do the same thing, just to make them laugh and feel better about it.

He would tell white lies / unrealistic jokes to his kid because he believes children and their innocence should be protected (and maybe teased for their naïveté). "Santa is fosho real!" "I went to Area 51 a while back!" "If you eat your carrots, you can see in the dark like me!"

Nagumo would spoil tf out of his kid--whether it's toys or sweets. He'd be responsible for all their potential cavities, but he'd also ensure the kiddo brushes their teeth every time (maybe even using one of those fun songs to count the time, etc). The kid would never think of it as a chore with him around.

When the kid is young-young, like still a toddler/preschool-aged and did things to get them in trouble, Gumo would get scolded along with them (but mostly him, because he should know better and it's probably his own dang influence). When the kid is school-aged, they will get scolded equally (except you can withhold a lot more from Nagumo lmao). I'm going to post a mini scenario of this one within the next few days! Stay tuned!!! (Part 2: You v. Nagumo and Toddler up!)

Thank you for brainstorming with me, Memi (@dearsecretlover)! The spoiled rotten with toys and scolding were just 🤌 the best additions!

[nanaosaki3940]

Sakamoto Days Fanfic

Just published my first Sakamoto Days fanfic called - Love In The Line Of Fire [Sakamoto Days] 🥰🥰🥰

Please check out the story on Quotev and Wattpad 🥺🥺🥺 -

[akimoroll]

nagumo yoichi (sakamoto days) x reader — college au

fem reader. slight enemies to lovers. fluff. suggestive. minors dni — wc: 2.1k

if you read kr bl manhwas, this one is inspired by (my beloved) semantic error. enjoy ♡

“Oh, hell no.” Your roommate cackled as she stood beside you, looking around your desk.

You turned to her, “Should I be worried?”

“Well…” she pursed her lips, “he is a bit of a menace and popular at that.”

You snickered, “Ooh, scary.”

“Just…” she trailed off, “be careful.”

You chuckled and continued writing your notes, “It’s not like I’m gonna hang out with him. It’s just… peer tutoring.”

She walks over to her side of the room, “Whatever you say, babe. You’re a big girl.”

You watched her from the side before speaking, “So, you’re friends with him?”

She hummed, sitting on her bed, “Same circle but we’re not close,” she gasped, “You know, this might actually be a good thing for you!”

You gave her a questioning look, “Elaborate.”

“It’s your senior year. Live a little! I’m sure he could help you with that.” She grins, her eyebrows dancing.

You huffed, rolling your eyes, you continued writing, “I am living! And like I’ve said, just tutoring.” you reiterated.

That was the plan.

So why on earth—so early in the morning, in an empty study lounge—is your back pressed against the door by Nagumo with his tongue down your throat?

You place your hands on his chest as you try to push him away but he’s so much taller and stronger than you. You feel him smile against your lips. This insolent prick.

He leans down to your level with his hands cupping your cheeks. He’s so careful not to strain your neck. His gentleness made you give in, you let yourself melt into him. His kisses were soft and slow, it tasted sweet— chocolate? Oh, those coated biscuit sticks.

He always had those on him. You want some?

No, thank you.

Why not?

Not that you didn’t like it. But for some odd reason, you were hellbent on not having that scent on you— his scent, to be exact.

You have a keen sense of smell and upon meeting Nagumo, it blurred the line between it being a blessing or a curse to you. He always smelled like chocolate: when he walks in and sits across from you, when he opens his bag, when he talks to you—

And also that time when you spaced out and watched him eat the thing slowly, the way it lingered on his lips before he took a bite, the way he licked his lips. But he then smirked and you were flustered that he caught you shamelessly staring.

Now you could taste it. So much for not trying to smell like him.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath. Your eyes flutter as he starts trailing kisses down your neck. His hands running down from your shoulders to your wrists, taking the straps of your backpack along, he drops it to the floor. And when he intertwined his hands with yours, your brain nearly shut down.

“We shouldn’t do this.” you pant.

He chuckles breathily against your skin, “You’re right, we shouldn’t.” he murmured. But he doesn’t stop— biting off the button of your blouse, he takes it from his mouth and puts it in the back pocket of your jeans. He kisses further down your collarbone, leaving moist prints, sighing against your skin.

“I- Ah- I’m serious.” you stammer.

He grins, “Mhm, I bet you are.” he mumbled, before claiming your lips again. He then takes your hands and places them on his shoulders.

He deepens the kiss, pressing his body against yours. You squirm as his tattooed hands travel your back.

You ache for his touch for a split second when you feel his hand leave you.

Click.

He locked the door behind you. After realizing what he’s up to, you pulled away, “Yoichi!” You warn him quietly.

“I didn’t know a kiss could unlock first name privileges.” He teases, tucking hair strands behind your ear, he then twirls his fingers with the ends of your hair.

Just a week ago, you were so adamant on how you should address each other strictly by last name, because according to you: “We’re not friends. I’m just here to tutor you.” He inwardly chuckles at the memory and how he’s looking at you right now, enjoying the view— face flushed, hair out of place, blouse half undone, lipstick ruined. And it was all because of him.

He was intrigued by you from the start, like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. You didn’t laugh at his antics, didn’t smile at him once, never answered any questions outside tutoring. But at some point, it did annoy him—how much of a stuck-up you are—so much that he made sure his presence shall be known for the next following days.

You kept seeing him with his smug grin and his fuckboy outfits, it made you cringe— in the halls, near your dorms, in the cafes you go regularly to, he was everywhere.

It really didn’t bother you that much, not until he started talking to you outside of tutoring. He didn’t care if you were alone or you’re with your friends, he would come and say hi or say something out-of-pocket so casually that he’d start conversing with your friends too, and they teased you endlessly about it.

But he’s so hot! Are you blind?!

I’ll take him if you don’t want him.

Did you not see the way he was looking at you?

God, you are dense.

And then his friends started approaching you too.

Have you seen Yoichi around?

Hey, you should come to the party tonight. It’d be fun.

Oh, you can’t? That’s too bad.

You see, Nagumo wouldn’t shut up about you.

You have become so annoyingly aware of his existence that the one time he didn’t show up for tutoring, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You couldn’t focus in class. You were subconsciously searching for him in crowds. You passed by places you’ve seen him frequently. You even passed by his frat house despite it not being your route. You even went the extra mile and asked his friends pretending you bumped into them. Your routine was in shambles that day.

Just when you’ve finally talked yourself out of it and had given up— you saw him off-campus, stepping out of a car, with a girl in the driver seat. She was so, so pretty with her turquoise hair and looked so cool smoking a cigarette. She honked at him as he watched her drive off. He then turned around with hands in his pockets, beaming as soon as he locked eyes with you.

Insecurity started creeping in, you panicked and ran off. When you finally reached the dorms, you were relieved that your roommate wasn’t there. You wouldn’t know what to say if she asked why you’re so out of breath like you were fighting for your life. It felt so unlike you, like you were in a state of malfunction. It maddened you to a degree that when he met you for tutoring this morning, he felt it radiating from you.

He was seated across from you, stealing glances your way as you occupied yourself with a book.

“Rough night?” he asked in which you didn’t answer, you didn’t even move a muscle.

To make things less awkward for you, he ripped a piece of paper from his notes and started writing: Are you mad? He gently slid it across the table.

You don’t know what has gotten you but you had an urge to write back: Why would I be mad?

Pleased that you wrote back: Idk, that’s why I’m asking.

I’m not.

He held back a chuckle. You’re not very good at lying.

You glared at him after reading his response. How could you tell? You’re probably good at it.

He snickered a little too loud. Curious about me?

You scoffed quietly and wrote: Definitely not.

He snorted from holding back his laugh— I heard you were looking for me yesterday.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. I wasn’t.

He stared at you for a moment too long, amused. He wrote: So my friends were lying?

I didn’t say that. You put down the pen a little too hard.

Liar, liar.

You scoffed quietly, pointing at his work sheets.

But he was persistent— Were you jealous?

You pretended you didn’t see the note. He annoyingly tapped on it, making you roll your eyes— I have no idea what you’re talking about and I don’t care. You wrote with force, visibly getting angry.

He covered his mouth, uncontrollably laughing in silence. He wrote: Lying again LOL

You ignored him again but he didn’t back down— You think she’s pretty?

Without thinking you snapped at him, “No!” Your voice vibrated through the room.

You were both surprised, “I mean yes! I mean—”

A satisfied grin flashed across his face as he witnessed such a reaction from you.

Embarrassed, you rose, stuffing your bag with your belongings.

“It’s not what you think,” he explained, still smiling, leaning forward from his seat.

“I don’t care. I didn’t ask.” You zipped your bag and stomped towards the door.

Just as you were about to reach the exit, he grabbed your arm. You snatched it away, leaving you with the ghost of his touch.

“Does your girlfriend know you like chasing random girls?” You berated him as you fully faced him.

“You’re not a random girl.” His voice low as he moved closer, towering over you.

You stepped back but he was quick to block the doorknob with his hand.

“She’s my sister,” he paused to think, “Adoptive sister, actually. If ever you’re wondering why we look nothing alike.” he says with a faint grin.

Your chin dipped down as you leaned against the door. Embarrassed by the stunt you pulled, you couldn’t look at him.

“It’s okay.” he cooed. So cute, he thought.

You stood unnaturally still after the realization that he’s standing so close to you. You couldn’t even form a witty remark, the proximity was overwhelming. You could feel his breath faintly fanning over you making your face heat up. You were speechless.

Despite your annoyingly unsmiling demeanor, he admired your intelligence and the way you carried yourself. Although he felt like you were light years away from being out of his league, he wanted to try for fun.

But something about the slight flush of your skin, the smell of your shampoo, the sound of your breathing, your chest heaving, the shape of your lips, and how you’re standing directly in front of him, so close he could touch you. He wanted more than just try and more than just fun.

You looked so pretty, so delicate and— “God, you’re so beautiful.” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened by his confession. You didn’t dare to look at him. What the hell is he on?

He swallowed, “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You unintentionally wetted your lips.

“I’ll stop if you say so.” he mumbled.

But he knew full well he wouldn’t be able to stop once you let him.

You finally looked at him—and holy shit—he’s more handsome than you remember. He looked like he could ruin your life and you’d happily let him. Your breath hitched as his face moved closer, dark brown eyes looking at you expectantly.

He uttered your name and it felt like your heart was going to burst by the sweetness of his tone, “Anytime now.” he whispered, lips hovering yours.

“Hm?” He gives you a peck on the cheek, still playing with your hair.

What?

“Right! First names- I-” you stammer, “I was just- uh- I was…testing it out?” You grimace, feeling stupid by your answer.

He tilts his head to the side with a satisfied grin. He looked down to reach for your hands, placing wet gentle kisses on your fingers. You watch him, mouth slightly open. His eyes never leave you.

He lets go of you as he removes his jacket, wrapping you in it. “Sorry for…” he trails off, pointing at his chest to mirror yours, he smirks.

He then hears you laugh for the first time. And oh boy, he was in awe by how it sounded and the way your eyes crinkled, like he was basked under the sun. He needed to see it, dying to hear it again. And he knows it, he knows damn well he’s finished.

You lock eyes with him in silence for a moment too long. He suddenly felt shy around you. You cleared your throat making him avert his gaze. He picks up your bag.

You watch him intertwine his hand with yours, voice laced with mischief, whispering, “You wanna test it out someplace else?”

♡

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ NAGUMO YOICHI ; — 18:04. heartbreaks are best served raw. cold. wet.

࿄ ! warnings - bruh none except juicy angst. exes to ?friends /. note i have been having nagumo brain rot and it’s taking over my life. pls help. pls enjoy. ofc there will be more. no proofreads ok byeee

“you still owe me, by the way.”

sighing, you throw your keys into the straw woven coaster on top of your shoe rack. of course he was strewn all over your couch, bare feet on your cushions, head resting on the arm rest, tv flashing in jest.

you roll your eyes. “sometimes, i have half a mind to tell my elderly neighbour that no, they’re not just seeing things when they keep telling me a big, lanky idiot keeps breaking into my home after i leave.”

nagumo gasps, hand grasping his chest through his loose shirt. “idiot? words hurt, y’know.”

you kick off your shoes, jacket and blazer - in that exact order - before wandering off into the kitchen, ignoring the dramatic cries emanating from your living room.

it’s not uncommon for nagumo to just show up in your house, uninvited, eating all your food and making a mess of all your things. you remember the first time it happened, almost a year ago. he had stumbled into your bedroom window, all bloodied and bruised and your reaction time was terrible to say the least, because while you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, his figure stepped into your peripheral and you threw the phone square at his already bruised jaw.

in apology, you had tidied him up and made him dinner… though now you wish you hadn’t shown him mercy back then, because he just kept. showing. up. you suppose he’s not just to blame. you’re ignoring the fact that you both hadn’t seen each other in over 7 years (after your messy exit of the JAA and an even more messy breakup) and now that he’s back in your life (back used in negative fashion) you just can’t seem to get rid of the him.

nor do you have the heart to tell him to get lost.

nagumo ceases his whining, yelling after you. “by the way, what’s for dinner? i saw some chicken in your fridge so…”

your eye twitches. “…so what?”

“so…i was thinking you might want to use that… to make dinner.”

you make a loud noise in disbelief, practically throwing the fridge door off of its hinges, “i’m not making you dinner?! gramps next door said he saw you come in 4 hours ago! and you didn’t think to come in and make dinner?!”

it’s quiet for a moment, but you hear the rustling of clothes and the movement of feet, so you turn to lean against the kitchen counter expectantly. the dark haired man peers his head round the corner, sheepish.

“y/n? are you mad at me?”

“no. i just think you’re stupid. oh, and i pretty sure you live to bother me.”

dark puppy eyes bore into yours as he steps into the vicinity. “the first part’s not true in the slightest but the second is pretty much on the nose. though, i’m not bothering you. you like that i’m here.”

“what’s this now?”

nagumo steps closer into your personal space, tattooed arms on either side of you as you look up and away from him.

“47 times. that’s how many times i’ve shown up here. in typical y/n fashion, you’ll complain and act like you’re annoyed, but i don’t think you’ve ever told me to go away.” nagumo ponders for a moment, finger on his chin. “now that i think about it, you haven’t. not once.”

you’re speechless. you’re not sure what to say and when you open your mouth, nothing wants to come out. truthfully, the man has read you like an open book, flicking through the pages languidly, hands bruising the spine. he’s smiling like it’s the truest thing he’s ever said - the only thing he’s been right about when it comes to how you feel.

pride is a very funny thing. if things were different, you’d grab his face and kiss him till he would shut up - well, that’s what you used to do… before, you know… you know. but this is humiliating, at least to you. even after all this time… you’ve let it get too far.

you huff, pushing his arm from beside you and you stand by a miscellaneous cupboard, turned away from nagumo, arms wrapped around yourself. “well, for starters, you’re wrong. forgive me for trying to be a good friend and helping someone out.”

“someone? that’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” the playful lilt stays lingering in his tone and it makes your heart simmer.

“… i think you should go, nagumo.”

silence sits between the two of you. nagumo looks at the back of your head. he sighs.

“if that’s what you want. see you around, y/n.”

he exits, quiet as never. he’s never quiet or silent when he lumbers around your home, sweeping and lingering. he’s probably already left your home in similar fashion. the fact makes you grab your own face and groan.

you don’t think you can be normal about him. maybe it’s for the best.

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