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thinking about how nanami doesnāt do baby talk with your daughter.
he made it clear from the very beginning. the day you found out you were pregnant, he kissed your forehead, pressed a hand to your still flat belly, and said, āi refuse to do baby talkĀ just so weāre clear.ā
you laughed at the time, thought he was joking.
but he wasnāt.
when she was born, he cradled her like glass. spoke to her like she understood everything. whispered soft things in her ear in that calm, low voice of his. not nonsense or silly rhymes, but actual words. real language.
āyouāre safe.ā
āyouāre loved.ā
āiāll always be here.ā
and thatās how itās been ever since.
now sheās four, and still, he doesnāt coo or squeal or make exaggerated cartoon voices. he doesnāt squish her cheeks and call her a wittle cutie pie. he doesnāt baby her.
he calls her āsweetheart,ā ādarling,ā āhoneyā in that same even tone he uses with everyone, but softer. slower. warmer. like his words are only hers.
he talks to her like sheās someone worth listening to.
and she talks back like she knows sheās being taken seriously.
when she tells him her teddy bear is sick and needs emergency surgery, he clears his schedule and lays out tissues like gauze pads.
āwhatās the diagnosis?ā he asks, serious as ever.
āfuzzy fever,ā she says, frowning.
āthen weāll need extra care and plenty of rest,ā he replies, adjusting the little stuffed limbs with practiced hands.
he doesnāt do pretend very often at all, but for her? heāll play nurse, doctor, and emotional support all at once.
he doesn't speak down to her, ever. when she asks questions (and she asks a lot) he answers every single one like itās important.
āwhy is the sky blue?ā
ābecause of the way light scatters in the atmosphere.ā
āwhatās a mortgage?ā
āa financial agreement. you donāt need to worry about that just yet.ā
she hums and nods like she understands, like sheās filing it away for later.
he teaches her things gently. slowly. patiently.
āwe use kind hands.ā
āwe speak clearly when weāre upset.ā
āitās okay to cry, but we donāt throw our toys.ā
he doesnāt yell. doesnāt raise his voice. doesnāt huff or sigh in frustration.
when sheās overwhelmed, he just kneels beside her, rests a hand on her back, and says, āitās a big feeling. take your time.ā
and she trusts him. wholly. fully.
because heās never once made her feel small. never once laughed when she stuttered through a sentence or tried to use a big word she didnāt quite understand.
instead, he gently repeats the word for her. uses it in a sentence. helps her try again.
and she calls him ādad,ā but sometimes āsirā slips in when sheās mimicking the way others speak to him. she does it with such seriousness that it breaks something soft in his chest.
he pretends not to react, but youāve seen the way he glances away quickly, like he needs a moment to collect himself.
he doesnāt tell her sheās cute.
but he tells her sheās clever. tells her heās proud of how kind she is.
āyou were very thoughtful today,ā he says after she offers you the last cookie.
āyou showed great emotional maturity,ā he tells her when she apologizes after a tantrum.
and when sheās tired. really tired. she crawls into his lap without saying a word. he always opens his arms. always shifts to make space.
he strokes her hair, rests his cheek on top of her head, and murmurs, āyou did your best today. thatās all iāll ever ask.ā
and she falls asleep there, every time, safe in the arms of a man who never babbles, never sings off-key lullabies, but always shows up.
always protects her.
always sees her.
and when you ask her who her best friend is, she says ādadā without hesitation.
when you ask her why, she shrugs and says, āhe listens to me better than anyone else.ā
and itās true.
he listens when she talks about butterflies and princesses and space robots.
he listens when she says sheās scared of thunderstorms.
he listens when she says she wants to be a firefighter and a ballet dancer and also maybe a sea turtle.
he never tells her itās silly. never laughs.
so no, nanami doesnāt do baby talk.
he doesnāt sing silly songs or play peek-a-boo.
but he shows up to every tea party.
he folds her tiny socks like theyāre made of gold.
he takes her hand when they cross the street, holds it like itās the most precious thing heās ever touched.
and when he tucks her in at night, he kisses her forehead and says, āyouāre growing into someone wonderful.ā
and really, that means more than any silly voice or rhyming song ever could.
because nanami doesnāt just raise a daughter;
he raises a whole person
you donāt know how to explain it without sounding insane.
youāre not just horny. itās not a normal craving, not some fleeting kind of want. itās deep, low in your belly, aching between your legs and humming through your blood like a fever.
you want him.
not like a fantasy, not like a distraction.
you want him like itās biological. like your body is demanding him.
and heās being soā¦ him about it.
soft linen shirt, sleeves rolled up. a few buttons undone. glasses slipping a little as he reads the paper with one hand and stirs his coffee with the other.
you stare. you squirm. you try to keep it together.
fail miserably.
ākento.ā
you say it like a warning. like a prayer.
he looks up, instantly attentive. sets the spoon down. folds the paper. eyes on you.
āyes, love?ā
you shift in your seat, thighs tight, your oversized t-shirt sticking to your too-warm skin. no underwear. no bra. just fabric and need.
you chew your lip. he tilts his head.
āā¦what is it?ā
you swallow. āi want you.ā
his face doesnāt change. but you feel the shift.
like he knows exactly what you mean.
still, he gives you a moment.
āwant meā¦ how?ā
you stand. cross the room slow, almost dizzy with how badly you need to touch him. press your hands to his chest. look up at him.
ālike iām going to die if you donāt fuck me,ā you whisper.
his breath hitches.
and then his hand is on your waist. firm. grounding.
āwhat happened?ā he asks gently.
āi donāt know,ā you say, voice shaking. āi woke up like this. iām- i think iām ovulating or something. i canāt stop thinking about you. my body just-ā
he nods. murmurs, āi understand.ā
then he kisses you.
not rushed. not teasing. just full, slow, thorough. like he wants to give you everything and take you apart all at once.
his hands slide down your back. he lifts your shirt just enough to find bare skin. his palm splays against your lower back. warm. steady. safe.
āyouāre burning up,ā he murmurs against your cheek.
you whimper.
he walks you backward until your thighs hit the dining table. you grab at him, needy and breathless.
āslow,ā he says softly, kissing your jaw, your throat, your shoulder. āyouāre overwhelmed already.ā
āi need you,ā you say again. āi canāt- kento, i need you now.ā
he exhales. his jaw clenches. he cups your cheek.
āyouāll have me,ā he says. ācompletely. i promise.ā
he sinks to his knees like itās nothing. like itās natural. reverent.
and when he spreads your thighs and leans in, his mouth is hot. his tongue slow, deliberate. like heās reading your body and translating it to a language only he knows.
your hips jump. you gasp. your hands fly to his hair.
āoh my god-ā
he hums low in his throat. holds you steady.
youāre wet already, messy and warm, and he doesnāt say a word about it. just takes you in stride. devoted. focused.
you come like that, fast and high-pitched, trying to stifle it in your fist.
ādonāt hide from me,ā he says, rising to his feet. āi want all of it.ā
you pull at his shirt, desperate. he lets you. unbuttons it slowly, lets it fall. then his belt. then everything else.
he presses you down against the table, eyes sweeping over you like heās seeing something sacred.
āyouāre beautiful like this,ā he murmurs, lining himself up. āso needy. so honest.ā
you feel the press of him and moan. loud. he shushes you softly, kisses your temple.
āiāve got you.ā
he fucks you like he means it. not just to get you off. not just because you asked.
he fucks you like itās the only thing that matters in the world. like itās worship. like your need is a gift.
slow strokes at first, then deeper. harder. your hands scrabble for him, nails raking his back, your mouth clumsy against his shoulder.
ājust like that,ā he whispers. āyouāre taking me so well, sweetheart.ā
you cry out. he kisses the sound from your mouth.
āyou needed this, didnāt you?ā he murmurs. āneeded to be filled. taken care of. i know.ā
you nod frantically, tears prickling. itās too much. not enough. everything.
heās panting against your neck now, thrusts getting rougher, hand slipping between your thighs to rub you again.
āyouāre perfect like this,ā he says, voice strained. āso warm around me. so fucking wet. you want it all, donāt you?ā
you come again, shaking. sobbing through it.
he follows with a low groan, head buried in your shoulder, body tense and trembling as he empties into you.
the silence after is thick with breath.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, hand brushing your hair off your sticky forehead.
āyou all right?ā
you nod, dazed. completely fucked out. āyeah.ā
he kisses you. so soft it makes your throat close.
ānext time,ā he murmurs, ātell me earlier. iāll take the whole day off.ā
you laugh. then gasp when he lifts you into his arms, carrying you toward the shower.
āweāre not done,ā he says. ānot if youāre still aching.ā
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"Anyone who has ever tried to recount a dream to someone else is in a position to measure the immense gap, the qualitative incommensurability, between the vivid memory of the dream and the dull, impoverished words which are all we can find to convey it: yet this incommensurability, between the particular and the universal, between the vecu and language itself, is one in which we dwell all our lives, and it is from it that all works of literature and culture necessarily emerge."
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(ft. Fushiita, GoShoko, InuOoku, NobaMaki (all aged up to present day, 2026).)
16.7k | Explicit | Post-JJK AU
Summary: LOCAL WOMAN REMOVES ORANGE PITH. MAN WITH EIGHT YEARS OF REPRESSION IS SEEN MALFUNCTIONING LIKE A TESLA BECAUSE THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED.
Or, Nanami only comes to his own birthday camping trip because Gojo steals his keys. He plans to survive one hour, avoid the group photo & leave before anyone can make a speech. Then you hand him a plate exactly the way he likes it, Shoko says what everyone has been pretending not to know, & one bad photograph catches the truth before he can look away. + Other couples have their own moments.
Warnings: MDNI, Crack-Treated-Serious, Canon Divergence eight years Post-JJK (2026), eyepatch, facial scarring, body insecurity, chronic pain/knee pain, injury recovery, medical caretaking history, trauma aftermath, references to Shibuya/Mahito, reader with no verifiable family/past records, alcohol mention, adult former students now sorcerers/teachers, background ships, audible background voyeuristic sex (for petty reasons), One bed/hotel room, scar/body worship, eyepatch Nanami, emotional comfort, caretaking history, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, Explicit sex, oral sex, face-fucking, gagging, titty-fucking, cumming on chest, fingering, cunnilingus, size kink, praise kink, pet names (good girl), tummy bulge, hand on throat/breath play, rough sex, overstimulation, marathon sex, multiple positions, missionary, cuddle-fucking, mating press, aftercare, protected sex, condom theft & mentions of morning-after pills (not for reader).
A/N: Happy birthday to my man, my man, my man, and also me for 2 years of fic writing. This is a well-awaited sequel to my first-ever fic, which I wrote on his birthday in 2024 & is finally an answer to the first-ever ask I got on Tumblr, based on an amazing ask from this anon. TBH this is the fluffiest fic I have ever written. Based on this event.
Nanami arrived at his own birthday camping trip late.
He had said he wouldnāt show up.
Then Gojo stole his car keys.
āYou look nice, Nanamin!ā
Yuji, twenty-four years old, called from the fold-out chair by the river, taller and broader now, older around the scars, with the same smile.
Nanami adjusted his eyepatch, damp with sweat under the strap. The burn scars pulled a little near his mouth when he answered, āYouāve grown into a terrible liar.ā
Yuji laughed and carded his fingers through Megumiās hair, where Megumi had dozed off against his knee.
You were by the picnic blanket, sleeves rolled up, turning skewers on the small grill while Nobara yelled at Inumaki over the paint set, one eye narrowed above the edge of her eyepatch, and Maki opened a jar with one hand better than most people could with both.
Panda had somehow been put in charge of the same fruit he'd been caught stealing earlier.
Gojo had been kept away from touching the food after he tried to āimproveā the rice balls with frosting. You looked up when Nanami reached you.
āHi,ā you said, holding tongs in one hand. āYou made it.ā
āI was kidnapped.ā
āYou still came.ā
āThat is what kidnapping means.ā
Your smile got bigger, and he pretended not to notice how easily that worked on him. Eight years, and he still acted as if your face had caught him off guard.
The first year after Shibuya had been the worst. You had arrived on the day he should have died with no past anyone could verify, both hands full of cursed energy and panic, and somehow dragged him to Shoko before death could finish making its case. He survived, but the burns still took his eye. Then you stayed through bandages and fever. From the first time he saw his face, he turned the mirror to the wall. Through every meal, he claimed he could cook for himself and then left it untouchedāhe had called you a nuisance. You still brought him soup the next mornings.
Now you handed him a plate before he even thought to ask, loaded with rice balls, grilled chicken, and orange slices without the white threads because he hated them. āYou remembered,ā he muttered as if it still somehow caught him by surprise after eight years.
You gave him a look. āI lived in your apartment for a year to care for you, Kento. I picked up things.ā
Across the blanket, Gojo gasped. āHe let you live with him? Kento, you slut.ā
Nanami turned away. āIām sitting with Yaga.ā
āYagaās asleep,ā Gojo grinned at Nanami, chucking the man his car keys back.
Nanami caught the car keys, muttered something passive-aggressive, and stomped away to check his tent.
āSo,ā Shoko turned back to you, red in the face from canned beer. āWhen are you two going to stop making the rest of us pretend this is friendship?ā
Your hand stopped over the salad bowl, and Gojoās grin went feral with interest. āOh, this is good.ā
āShoko.ā
āWhat?ā Shoko tipped her can toward Nanami, who had come back for something and then gone still behind you. āYou saved his life, fed him for a year, planned his every birthday since, and know he gets weird about orange pith. At some point, paperwork should get involved.ā
You looked over your shoulder. Nanami glanced back. And for a second, the river was louder than everyone.
Then you turned to the salad and said, āThe potatoes are burning.ā They were not.
After that the late lunch passed in silence while you both avoided eye contact until Gojo called to take a group picture. āEveryone in,ā he grinned, holding his phone too high. āBirthday boy in the middle before he starts pretending he has emails.ā
āI do have emails,ā Nanami grumbled.
āYour internet is working?ā Maki asked.
Nanami did not answer, which was an answer. Then he already started creeping toward the edge of the group when you noticed his hand go to the strap of his eyepatch. You saw it before anyone else didāthe way his mouth thinned where the scar tissue pulled from the old, ugly habit of remembering his face existed.
āIāll take it,ā you said, reaching for Gojoās phone.
Gojo looked offended. āI have the longest arms.ā
āYouāll make everyone look short.ā
Shoko rubbed Gojoās pant leg comfortingly because she was drunk enough to show emotions in public.
You ignored Gojo and waved everyone closer. Yuta ducked behind Panda. Yuji shoved Nobaraās elbow out of his ribs. Inumaki held up two rice balls like peace signs. Shoko stayed seated with her beer and lifted two fingers without moving. And the rest awkwardly gathered around. While Nanami tried to stand behind you.
You looked over your shoulder. āKento.ā
He stopped.
āCome here.ā
His mouth shifted, almost not at all, but you knew that almost. You had known it in hospital rooms, in pharmacy aisles, and in his bathroom when he turned the mirror to face the wall and told you he did not need help shaving. But you never told him to smile or that he looked fine, nor did you tilt his face toward the unscarred side or pretend the scarred side was not there.
Nanami was too proud a man for those things.
He stepped closer, looking at you, maybe in a warning or a plea not to make a thing of it. So you didnāt and took the phone, herded everyone into place, and, when Nanami tried to stand at the edge, said, āKento, hold this.ā And handed him the paper plate with the two skewers on it.
He frowned. āWhy?ā
āBecause if Gojo holds it, heāll eat them.ā
āIām not a big back,ā Gojo said, already chewing.
Nanami took the plate because it gave his hands somewhere to be and confused him enough to get distracted from his body.
āFine, fine,ā Gojo said, lifting the phone higher. āEveryone act like you like each other.ā
āI donāt act,ā Maki declared.
āThatās why we cherish you, Kiki-chan.ā
Makiās hand immediately lunged to yank Gojoās hair back.
You only stepped beside Nanami when the others crowded in, your shoulder brushing his arm as it had in hospital corridors, Jujutsu Tech halls, his kitchen at three in the morning, and every quiet place where he had tried to become awful so youād leave him alone but failed because you kept coming back with groceries. āReady?ā
Nanami looked down at you, and for one second, his face shifted againāless alone, maybe. āYes,ā he answered. Then he turned his head at the last second because you chuckled when Shoko pinched Gojoās cheeksāyour eyes bright, one hand caught at Nanamiās sleeve, like you had done it without thinking.
The shutter clicked.
The picture happened in the middle of everyone laughing, talking, or yelling.
When you lowered the phone, Gojo took it back, glanced at the screen, and said, much softer than usual, āOh.ā
Nanami reached for the phone thinking Gojo was about to make fun of him. But then he saw the picture and realized he was not looking at the camera at all. Not even facing it.
He was looking at you.
The angle had hidden most of the eyepatch from view. His face was turned far enough that the scarred side fell into shadow, but that was the first thing his mind usually reached for, out of habit since Shibuya.
Then he followed his gaze in the picture and saw you.
You were smiling like the whole noisy riverside had narrowed to the space between your hand on his sleeve and his shoulder beside yours without any careful softness meant to spare him. Instead it was happiness, plain and unguardedācaught before either of you could hide it.
Nanami stared too long, and Gojo, for once, did not ruin it.
You too leaned closer, looking at the screen. āOh.ā
Nanamiās thumb squeezed against the edge of the phone.
āI look ridiculous,ā you said, staring at something else.
āNo,ā he answered, too quickly.
You looked up at him.
His ears were faintly red. āYou lookā¦ā He stopped. Everyone was still close enough to hear, and dignity was a habit even when it no longer saved him.
Gojoās grin started spreading menicingly.
Nanami locked the phone and handed it back. āSend that to me.ā
Gojoās eyebrows climbed. āYeah?ā
āYes.ā
āInteresting.ā
Shoko slapped his arm. āSatoru.ā And Nanami thought she would be the voice of reason, but heād forgotten the woman was drunk. āLet him do the Fushiguro thing in peace.ā
Megumi looked up from where Yuji was showing him the backup photo his phone had taken from where it was propped against the cooler. āWhat thing?ā
Gojoās grin changed targets with speed. āOh, you donāt know?ā
Nanami had never been happier for Gojoās lack of attention span.
Yuji zoomed in the picture on his phone before Megumi. And low and behold, in the corner of the photo, Megumi was looking at Yuji.
It wasnāt near him or past him but directly at him, with a small smile he clearly had no memory of making.
Nobara leaned over Yujiās shoulder and made a noise of pure disgusted delight. āOh, thatās embarrassing.ā
āIt was an accident,ā Megumi snapped, snatching the phone away.
āYou do this in every picture,ā Panda laughed.
āI do not.ā
Inumaki, already scrolling, turned his own phone around to show an old photo from their trip to Osaka.
Megumi lunged for it too, but Gojo caught the back of his shirt without even looking.
Yuji smiled traitorously. āYou stare at me?ā
āI was checking your surroundings.ā
āBy staring at my sleeping face in a locked train compartment?ā
Megumi went red to the ears and tried to get Inumaki again. āGive me the phone.ā
Gojo, delighted, lifted it out of reach.
Yuji leaned into Megumiās shoulder, warm and shameless. āThatās cute.ā
Megumi flicked the back of his head. āItās not.ā
Yuji rubbed the back of his own head but continued to grin dumbly.
Megumi covered Yujiās face with one hand. āIām going to kill all of you.ā
āIām sending it,ā Gojo said to Nanami, still grinning, but he did not say anything else about the way Nanami had looked at you.
Your phone buzzed first. Then Nanamiās.
---
After dinner and the cakeāwhich had been cut badly by Gojo while he was trying to get the biggest piece for himself and fixed by Makiās bladeāwas eaten, everyone spread out. Nobara and Maki vanished into the woods with one lantern and two blankets. Shoko drank by the fire, her feet in Gojoās lap while he massaged them and argued with her about the terms of their bet. Ijichi snored in a chair. Panda and Yaga were talking over roasted marshmallows. Inumaki and Yuta were catching fish in the dark with too much confidence. Far down the river, Yuji walked with Megumi, their shoulders bumping.
āSenseiās sitting alone again,ā Yuji said, nodding toward you by the water.
Megumi followed his gaze. āNanami-san will go.ā
āYou think?ā
āHe has been watching her for twenty minutes.ā
Yuji grinned. āTheyāre so married for people who say, āweāre just friends.āā
Megumi shoved his hands in his pockets. āHe looks at her a lot.ā
āShe knows how he takes his coffee and practically everything he likes and dislikes.ā
āHe keeps pain medicine in his office for her cramps. Asked me to fetch it last time.ā
āYou know she bought him that ugly beige camping mug.ā
Megumiās mouth twitched, but he didnāt look at Yuji when his arm slid around his waist casually. āHe says it was a practical gift.ā
Yuji laughed and leaned into Megumiās side. āThe man is down bad in business casual.ā
āYou would know,ā Megumi mildly smirked.
Yujiās grin widened. āWhatās that supposed to mean?ā
āNothing.ā
āYouāre holding my waist while saying that, so itās not nothing.ā
Megumi looked away toward the river, where the lantern light caught the scars cutting across his own face: one near his left temple and eye, the other paler on the opposite side, half-lost when he ducked his head. āYou were walking too close to the water.ā
Yuji looked delighted by this.
Megumiās hand tightened once at his side before Yuji could start testing him. āShut up.ā
Farther downriver, Yuta lifted the lantern higher while Inumaki crouched near the bank, one sleeve pinned and empty where his other arm used to be. The light caught the stitches across Yutaās forehead when he bent too close, watching Inumakiās face again instead of the water.
āSalmon,ā Inumaki warned without looking up.
Yuta straightened immediately. āRight. Sorry.ā
Inumaki glanced back at him, eyes soft above his collar, then pointed at the river like Yuta had been the one scaring the tiny fish away.
Yuji followed Megumiās gaze and smiled softer this time. āEveryoneās kind of obvious tonight.ā
Megumi huffed a small laugh. āYouāre one to talk.ā
āHuh?ā
āYou were staring at me in the picture too.ā
āI can admit thatā¦" Yujiās grin went soft around the scar cutting through his lip. āMaybe I like looking at you.ā
Megumi looked away first, jaw working like he wanted to argue and couldnāt find anything worth saying. The distant lantern light caught the scars near his left temple and eye before he leaned in closer, his hand moving lower on Yujiās waist. āShut up,ā he muttered, eyes dropping to Yujiās mouth as he dragged him closer. āCome here.ā
Yujiās hands fisted in Megumiās hoodie as he glanced back toward camp. āWhat if someone sees?ā
āWeāre not fifteen anymore,ā Megumi whispered near his ear, moving Yujiās face back toward him with a careful hand. āAnd everybody here has seen far worse things than grown adults kissing.ā
Yuji laughed under his breath, his breath warm against Megumiās mouth. āThatās true.ā
Megumi pushed him back against the nearest tree to get them out of the path where the firelight could reach. His hand slipped under the hem of Yujiās hoodie and settled burning at his waist.
Yuji stayed still for half a breath.
Megumi felt it because heād trained himself to trace the tiny delay before Yuji remembered where he was. The way his body sometimes braced for bad things before his mind caught up, like some old part of him was still waiting for another voice in his head.
Megumiās thumb tapped into his skin.
Yuji continued to stare at nothing.
Megumi rubbed his skin again, gentler, and Yujiās shoulders loosened. āSorry,ā he murmured.
āDonāt be.ā
Yuji looked at him.
āDonāt apologize for that,ā Megumi said, with his eyes dropping briefly to the scar through Yujiās lip before returning to his face. āJust stay here.ā
Yujiās smile came back. āBossy.ā
āYeah.ā His hand stayed where it was, and for a second, Megumi thought about the stupid unfairness of it. Nanami could give someone things and call it practical. Gojo could make a public nuisance of himself with Shoko and somehow still have the world bend around it. But what Megumi wanted with Yuji, something with same surnames, still had to be phrased around loopholes, paperwork, and whichever court felt generous enough to recognize it.
He would still ask anyway.
Just not tonight. Tonight was someone else's.
But Megumi would ask soon. And Yuji would make some awful noise when he realized. Might laugh first, then cry after, then ask, āAre you sure?ā Like Fushiguro Megumi hadnāt built his whole life around being sure of very few things, and selfishly choosing Itadori Yuji every day wasnāt always going to be top of them.
Megumi hooked his thumb in Yujiās belt loop, keeping him close. āBesides,ā he said, lower now, eyes dropping to Yujiās mouth, āitās easier to appreciate you in the dark.ā
Yujiās smile got warmer. āOh.ā
āYeah,ā Megumi muttered, having difficulty taking his eyes off Yujiās lips. āOh.ā
Yujiās gaze flicked once toward the firelight, then back to him. āYou gonna use your technique, bro?ā
āDonātāā Megumiās ears went red, but he knew to suppress his reaction because he knew that Yuji said dumb things when flustered or nervous or excitedāpretty much all the time. āDonāt make it sound weird.ā
āYouāre the one who said it.ā
āI meant so no one sees you panic every time someone walks past.ā
Yujiās smile softened at the edges.
āAnd yeah,ā Megumiās other thumb brushed against Yujiās lips and his scar, and he added, quieter. āOnly if you want.ā
Yuji stared at his mouth and at the broader line of Megumiās shoulders, where he crowded him against the tree without actually pinning him there. āYeah,ā it came easily, his breath catching around the word. āIāahāwant you to.ā
The shadow at Megumiās feet started to gather around them, darkening the space between the tree and the river until the campfire disappeared into a dark blur through the leaves.
Yuji let out a small, nervous laugh. āThatās kind of hot.ā
Megumi closed his eyes and kissed him before Yuji could make the moment difficult by being sweet.
Yuji wrapped both arms around him because Yuji had never learned how to accept small things from Megumi without giving his whole body back.
---
Back by the river, you sat with your feet near the water, your lantern beside you. The paper plate on your lap held a slice of cake you had barely touched.
Nanami stopped beside you. āMay I sit?ā
āItās your day.ā You smiled up at him.
āI was told Iām allowed very little free will today.ā
āThatās because you were trying to ditch your own birthday party.ā You moved your plate, and he sat on the grass with a careful breath. His knee clicked. You reached into the bag beside you to hand him the small cushion you had packed.
He stared at it.
āFor your knee,ā you told him. āTake it before I throw it at you.ā
He took it, and for a while, you both just watched the river pull silver lines around the stones.
āI heard Shoko,ā he murmured.
āI figured.ā
āI should have answered.ā
You picked at the cake with your fork. āYou donāt owe people an answer about me.ā
āI owe you one.ā
Your hand stilled for half a second before going back to picking at the cake.
Nanami looked down at his plate, keeping his scarred side half out of the lantern light.
āI wanted to spend today alone. That was the plan. A quiet mountain cabin. Sandwich from a shop. A book I would barely read.ā
You nodded.
āThen you sent a list of food. A map. A reminder about sunscreen. Then seven messages about whether I could still eat spicy sauce.ā
āYou canāt.ā
āI can. It just comes with regret.ā His mouth curved a little.
Then he sighed. āI was annoyed. Then I looked forward to it all week.ā
Your throat worked around a small laugh that came out thin. āYouāre bad at gratitude.ā
āIām worse at friendship, apparently.ā
You finally looked at him. He met your eyes, and this time he didnāt look away first. āYou were there when I was hard to be near. Then I made it harder. I knew you would come back, so I let myself be careless with your feelings.ā
Your fork dug into the cake because you didnāt know what to say to that. Some small part of you tried to make sense of it before you could hope. Pity, obligation, eight years of habit, his loneliness finding the nearest person who already knew where the medicine was kept.
Then Nanami reached into his jacket, pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with kitchen string, and handed it to you. āI bought this months ago,ā he whispered. āJust kept waiting for a dignified moment.ā
You opened it.
A key sat inside, along with a tiny wooden tag carved with your name.
Your breath caught and you looked up at him. āIs this because you feel responsible for me?ā
His answer came too fast to be polite. āNo.ā
Then he lowered his voice. āI would like you to come home.ā His voice roughened at the edges. āAs mine. In whatever order you can accept. Girlfriend first, if that is easier. Partner. Wife, someday, if you can forgive the delay. If you still want that after we learn how to stop pretending.ā
Your palm pressed to your mouth.
He looked alarmed. āWas that too much?ā
You laughed into your palm. āKento, you gave me a house key as a birthday gift on your birthday.ā
āIt seemed practical.ā
āYou are so stupid.ā
āYes,ā he smiled, softer now. āI am aware.ā
You leaned over and kissed the scarred side of his mouth before he could brace for it, his skin warm against your lips.
Behind you, from across the camp, Gojo screamed, āPAY UP, SHOKO!ā
You smiled against him.
He sighed, warm and beaten. āI should have invited you to the mountains.ā His hand closed over yours, and he kept the key pressed between both your palms.
Gojoās voice carried across the camp again, loud enough to make bats startle somewhere in the trees. āSHOKO, YOU CANāT CHANGE THE TERMS AFTER THE KISS. MY SIX EYES CONFIRMED IT.ā
āI can do whatever I want,ā Shoko called back, flat and drunk. āYour first choice is dead.ā
The camp went still for half a second.
Then Gojo shouted, āTake that back.ā
āI meant Iām the only doctor you idiots have.ā
āWE HAVE MY GOOD STUDENT YUTA NOW.ā
Yuta immediately grabbed Inumakiās sleeve and started dragging him farther downriver.
āI did surgery on him. And you. Iām superior.ā
āYAGA, SHEāS BULLYING ME AGAIN.ā
Nanami closed his eye. āIgnore them.ā
You laughed softly, and the sound made his hand tighten around yours. You were still too close to him, leaving small pecks against the scarred side of his lips. The little wooden tag pressed into your palm, your name carved into it like a promise. āKento.ā
āYes?ā He hummed.
āIād like to come home with you.ā
He went still.
You looked down at your joined hands because saying it while looking at his face would have made your voice crack. āNot tonight. I mean, obviously, but I mean properly. I want to move in. I want to start dating. I wantā¦ā
Nanamiās face changed slowly, like watching the door open after standing outside with his hand raised for years. āGirlfriend first,ā he added, quieter.
You nodded.
āPartner when you are ready.ā
You looked up at him. āIām not the only one who has to be ready.ā
He lowered his gaze, thumb moving over your knuckles, careful around the key. āI have been ready in undignified ways for some time.ā
Your smile broadened. āThat might be the most romantic thing youāve ever said to me.ā
He gave you half a smile. āHope itās not the last. I intend to do better.ā
āYouād better.ā
He looked toward the river because smiling at you too openly still cost him.
You remembered his face before Shibuya only in fragments now: old photographs, mission reports.
This was the face you knew better. āI do need time,ā you admitted. āFor the move, I mean. I have things at my apartment, clothes, books, souvenirs, the kettle you said was a fire hazard.ā
āIt was a fire hazard.ā
You smiled down at the key. āIāll bring the kettle last.ā
āI will dispose of it humanely.ā
You slapped his arm lightly. āYou will not.ā
āI will hire someone.ā He sounded like he was going to get someone from the dark web.
āKento.ā
His mouth curved, small so that nobody across the camp would have noticed. You did because you had always noticed him in the margins.
He glanced down at your plate. āYou did not eat your cake.ā
āI got proposed to by a man who doesnāt know if he asked me to be his girlfriend or his wife. I donāt care about the cake right now.ā
His expression sharpened with immediate concern. āDo you want something else?ā
āNo. Iām teasing you.ā
āI still need an answer.ā
You loved him for that. In his dry insistence, he could be given a kiss, a key accepted, and a future placed in his hand and still worry about your blood sugar before his own feelings. āIām okay,ā you answered. āJust tired.ā
That, he believed. Then he stood with effort, offered you his hand, and you let him pull you up. His knee bothered him. You knew the exact stiffness in his jaw that meant it had started to ache.
āYou should go back. Before Gojo remembers he has lungs and yells again.ā
āHe never forgets.ā
āNo. He simply uses them irresponsibly.ā
He walked you back through the camp slowly. The fire had sunk low. Shoko was laughing at something Gojo was saying too close to her ear, her cheeks flushed from beer, one hand resting on the back of his neck as if sheād put it there to keep him from running off into the dark. Yaga and Ijichi had already retreated to their tents on the far end of the site. Panda lay outside his fatherās tent with one paw over his face, asleep under the stars with a plushy like a log and snoring as one.
You saw Nanami notice all of it.
Nobara and Maki had not come back. Neither had Megumi and Yuji. Inumaki and Yuta were still missing somewhere downriver with the lantern and the knife, which you chose not to examine too closely.
At your tent, Nanami stopped. The zipper was halfway open. Inside, your blanket had been kicked into a pile, your overnight bag still unlatched, clothes spilling out because Nobara had insisted she could style you for glamping and then abandoned the project the second Maki called her name.
āIāll see you in the morning,ā Nanami told you.
āYouāre not going to make sure Iām zipped inside so a bear won't attack me at night?ā
He stood there for half a second longer than necessary, his expression caught inside something softer. Then he bowed his head once, because Nanami Kento had no available defense against being called yours except good manners.
āGood night,ā he repeated, lower this time. Then he walked back to his tent with red ears.
You waited until his silhouette disappeared past the fire before you looked at the key again.
You did not sleep but lay on your back under the thin blanket, phone held above your face, the key box sitting on your stomach because you just couldn't put it away tonight.
Outside, the river moved, leaves shifted, someoneās tent zipper caught, and bamboo wind chimes knocked softly near the picnic shelter.
You opened your messages.
You: I should probably ask what your move-in requirements are before I accidentally bring the fire-hazard kettle.
His reply came so fast that your chest warmed.
Kento: The kettle is not entering my home.
You: Is it not mine?
There was a pause long enough for you to worry you had made it too much too fast, even though it had been eight years.
Then his typing bubble appeared.
Kento: Our home. The kettle is still not entering it.
You covered your mouth with your hand.
You: Cruel landlord.
Kento: Boyfriend. Possibly partner. Future husband, if I do not lose the position over fire safety.
You stared at the message until the letters blurred at the edges.
Outside, Gojo laughed somewhere, quieter than usual. Shoko told him to shut up in a voice that had no real conviction behind it.
You: Youāre very confident about future husband.
Kento: I have been accused of waiting too long. I am correcting the record.
You: By proposing an entire life on your birthday.
Kento: It seemed practical. I deserved a gift, and you deserved something permanent for planning this day and everything before it.
You: Iām going to bite you.
Kento: That is not a logistical concern.
The squeal you made into your blanket was embarrassing and muffled. You rolled onto your side, holding the phone close to your face.
You: I keep thinking Iāll wake up and youāll decide this was fever brain.
Kento: I am not feverish.
You: The key is beautiful, and my name carved into it looks good.
Kento: I had a professional do that. (It was Megumi.)
You realized he didn't want anyone to spoil it.
You: That makes it sweet, actually.
Kento: I am aware.
The next message came after a long moment of his typing bubble appearing and disappearing and reappearing.
Kento: I wanted you to have something that could not be mistaken.
Your throat tightened. All the noise outside seemed to move further away. Even the river sounded softer from inside the tent.
You: Kento.
Kento: You have had very little permanence since you came here.
You stopped breathing for a second.
Kento: No family records or household. No one to call if something went wrong who belonged to you before this world took you in. You have made a life anyway. I know that. I am proud of that. But I wanted you to have a door that opened because your name belonged there.
You pressed the phone to your chest and stared at the dark fabric of the tent roof.
Untethered.
You hated that word. It made drifting sound graceful.
Gojo and Ijichi had made you legal enough for payroll, rent, hospital forms, and mission reports, but none of it reached backward. There were still blank spaces where parents should have gone. No childhood address. No family name that meant anything here. No one who could say what you were like before this world took you in.
You had caught yourself envying the students for ugly things: clan fights, dead relatives, living relatives, inheritance arguments, grief with names attached. At least someone had known them before.
Jujutsu Tech gave you a file. Shoko gave you headache medicine before you asked. Gojo bought things you never requested and called it community support. The others made room for you without making speeches.
And Kento.
Kento with the second phone charger he pretended came in a pack of two. Kento whose apartment had become the only place your body slept properly. And now he was saying your name belonged on the door.
You typed and deleted six different replies.
You: I donāt know how to say what that means to me without sounding pathetic.
Kento: You have listened to me say āgirlfriend first, partner, wife somedayā beside a river. I no longer have grounds to judge anyoneās process.
You laughed, but it broke halfway into a few tears.
You: I didnāt think Iād get to be someoneās family officially here. I know that sounds stupid because people choose each other all the time, but I didnāt think it would happen to me. Especially not with someone who knows I drink coffee like it counts as water.
Kento: It does not.
You: Iām being vulnerable. You can be nice.
Kento: You are. I am keeping you grounded.
You: By attacking my coffee?
Kento: By reminding you that I know it.
You blinked hard, looking for the right emoji to express your distaste.
Kento: When you first appeared, I was suspicious of you.
You: Romantic.
Kento: You had no file, no verifiable history, and enough cursed energy to drag a half-dead man out of Mahitoās grasp. Suspicion seemed reasonable.
You: Still romantic.
Kento: I was also afraid you would disappear the same way you arrived.
You did not know what to say to that.
Kento: I expected someone to explain you eventually as a curse, technique, or a temporary consequence of some larger cruelty. I thought if I became too accustomed to you, the world would correct itself and take you back.
Your fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Kento: Then you stayed. Argued with my pharmacist, replaced the mirror I turned to the wall with one too small for me to avoid entirely. You even left soup at my door after I called you a nuisance. You became domestic before I was ready for you to be irreplaceable.
The tent blurred. You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand and nearly dropped the phone.
You: You canāt say things like this over text.
Kento: I can say them outside your tent if you would prefer.
Your whole body went warm.
You: Oh lord no.
Kento: Understood.
You: I mean yes? Or no. I mean Iām wearing an old shirt and crying.
Kento: I have seen worse.
You: You are so bad at this.
Kento: Noted. I will improve.
You smiled into the dark. Then his next message came.
Kento: If things become too dangerous again, I need you to understand something.
You sat up.
Kento: I will not let Jujutsu society decide what happens to you. I have given enough of my life to institutions that eat people and call it duty. If the choice is between staying and keeping you safe, I will take you and leave.
You reread that message, a mix of emotions swirling inside you and choking in your throat.
You: You mean that?
Kento: Yes.
You: But you love your work.
Kento: I love being able to help where I can. That is not the same thing.
You: And if I say I donāt want you giving everything up for me?
Kento: Then we will discuss it like adults. And I will still keep the car maintained.
It was just so like him, devotion inside an emergency plan.
You were still staring at the message when another sound came from outside.
At first, Nanami ignored it.
In his own tent, sitting upright with his back against a rolled sleeping bag because lying down had proved useless, he heard canvas shift from the direction of Gojoās tent and assumed the man was awake.
Which was not unusual. Satoru rarely slept like other people. Three hours, sometimes less, then he would wander the halls of the school or appear in kitchens, bright-eyed and awake past reason, eating someone elseās food and pretending insomnia was a lifestyle choice.
Nanami typed another message, thumb moving carefully.
Kento: For clarity, I am not planning to take your choice away. I am saying you have one with me now. If something like Shibuya happens. If we need to leave, we leave together.
The shuffling continued. A soft thump. A rustle. Then something like a hand catching against tent fabric.
Nanami paused. Then resumed typing because whatever Gojo Satoru did at night was between him, God, and the nearest vending machine.
Kento: I should have told you earlier. Years ago.
A muffled laugh came from the other tent.
Shokoās.
Nanamiās typing slowed. Another rustle followed, lower this time, rhythmic enough that his mind and his technique, traitorous and precise, started assembling possibilities he did not want.
No. Absolutely not.
Satoru would not.
Nanami stared at the wall of his tent.
Then a muffled sentence came through canvas and night air, Satoruās voice far too pleased with itself to be mistaken for sleep talking.
Nanami closed his eye. And for several seconds, he sat very still.
Satoru wouldn't do that. Wouldn't traumatize his students like that, would he?
And there were students nearby.
Former students, yes. Grown adults now, all of them old enough to drink, vote, kill curses, and make bad decisions in forests. But still. They had been children once. Children Satoru had bequeathed and taught. Children Nanami had, against his will and better judgment, worried about.
Except Nobara and Maki had disappeared into the trees hours ago. Megumi and Yuji had walked off in opposite direction around the same timeāeven their cursed energies weren't within a detectable radius now. Inumaki and Yuta had not returned from whatever fishing ritual required one knife and an alarming amount of staring contest. Panda slept like a boulder on the other side of camp. Yaga slept like a dead man with a pension. Ijichi slept like a person who had spent fifteen years being emotionally waterboarded by Gojo Satoru and could sleep through artillery if it meant nobody needed him.
So Satoru was traumatizing no one he cared about except Nanami.
Oh, but waitā¦ Ijichi.
Nanamiās eye opened. That was it, wasn't it?
Satoru had pointed out, years ago to Kento, the way Ijichi hovered around Shoko with the doomed attentiveness of a man bringing coffee to a woman miles out of his league. Had mocked him for it, interfered with it, sabotaged it, and once bought him a book on āassertive romantic communicationā that Ijichi had accepted with both hands and visible despair. The book contained the worst possible advice, such as shaving your head made you more aerodynamic for dates.
That was not poor judgment.
It was Satoru declaring territory.
Nanami put on his headphones. Then his gaze dropped to his phone.
You were in the tent near hisāawake, emotional, and his to care for. And you could probably hear this. His thumb moved before he had fully decided.
Kento: Pack your bag.
Your reply came quickly.
You: what
Kento: Quietly. Ten minutes. Meet me just outside the campsite entrance.
You: Kento what happened
He glanced toward the canvas wall as another sound reached him.
Kento: Satoru.
A momentary pause.
You: oh my god
Kento: Yes.
You: shoko?????
Kento: Unfortunately.
You: is everyone else asleep
Kento: Gone, asleep, or morally unreachable.
You: what does morally unreachable mean?
Kento: Panda.
You: Kento I canāt just flee a campsite because Gojo and Shoko are having sex
Kento: I can. Pack.
You were outside in eight minutes after having packed so quickly that even your bag was zipped wrong and your hair had come loose around your face.
Nanami was already waiting near the entrance sign with his overnight bag in one hand. His hair was mussed from where he had dragged his fingers through it, and his eyepatch strap sat a little crooked. He looked you over once, checking that you had your shoes, your bag, yourself, then said, āMy car is nearby. There is a hotel ten minutes from here. We will return in the morning.ā
You followed him to the car. He opened the passenger door for you, and you hid a smile because he had always done that, even before tonight, even when he could still pretend it was only manners. Now the same small gesture felt claimed. He shut the door once you were inside, walked around to the driverās side, and started the engine.
Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive. The road out of the campsite was narrow and dark, trees pressing close on either side. Nanami drove with one hand on the wheel, his profile lit by the dashboard glow. The eyepatch hid one side of him. The scars caught in uneven lines. You watched his hand shift, steady on the gear, and remembered the way it had held yours around the key. Halfway to the hotel, his expression changed.
āWhat?ā you asked.
He looked horrified. āHave you been drinking?ā
You stared. āWhat?ā
āAt the camp. Shoko was giving everyone beer. Gojo had that terrible sweet alcohol. You were emotional. I should have asked before taking you anywhere.ā
āI had half a canned peach thing four hours ago.ā
His jaw tightened. āThat is not an answer.ā
āIt was barely alcohol.ā
āThat is also not an answer.ā
āKento, I am not drunk.ā
āYou were crying.ā
āForgive a girl for being emotional after pining after a guy for eight years then suddenly being pulled out of the friend zone.ā
He opened his mouth. āThat was notā" Then he realized better and closed it. His grip eased slightly on the wheel, and he tried again. āThat was not intended to impair judgment.ā
āWell, it did.ā
āThen I shouldnāt have sent the texts.ā
āI didnāt say that.ā You leaned your head against the window, smiling despite the ache in your chest. āIām sober. Just feeling happy because you accidentally became my whole life and then asked me that we could stop pretending.ā
He swallowed. The car stayed very quiet after that.
At the hotel, Nanami carried both bags, and you let him because arguing with him in the lobby would have turned him into stone.
The receptionist looked at the two of youāyour rumpled clothes, his serious face, the bags, the hourāand made a decision behind her polite smile.
āIām sorry,ā she said. āWe only have one room available.ā
Tumblr is so annoying sometimes, won't let me post all in one.
thinking about nanami's coping mechanisms with the trauma of his work and how reader reacts...
you find yourself stirring awake to an empty bed once again. there's warmth already fading from the sheets, and the clock shows that it's far too early for this to be a good morning. so despite every bone in your body that aches to settle back into the sheets, you're pulling on your robe and heading to the main room.
only the dimmer lights are switched on, yet your eyes still squint to adjust as you notice your husband in the empty space between the kitchen island and the sofa. soft grunts are filling the otherwise silent space, and his hair bounces with each push up that he does.
the soft pad of your slippers against the floors seems to alert him, as he gazes up at you mid rep, but he just continues on without saying a word.
"kento, sweetheart." you start, knowing he's trying to shake off the anxiety from his nightmare. "come back to bed." your voice is terribly soft as you try to show your sympathy.
he groans louder, pushing himself harder as he just shakes his head in disbelief. "i'm okay, just got some extra energy. can't sleep with it."
"this is the third time this week, ken," and you're growing more worried by the minute as you watch how sweat beads down his face. moving from your place by the wall, you come closer to him and kneel down.
nanami's trapped in his own mind, adrenaline pumping through him as every bad thought and memory churns his stomach. his arms are so tired, his chest is aching and all he wants is to collapse into the softness of your arms.
it's when your hand touches his sweaty shoulder that he realises he can have what he wants. he sits back on his knees, chest heaving as he recovers from the exercise and he's itching to touch youābut he won't let himself move first.
luckily you're already wrapping your smaller arms around his neck, pulling his face into your shoulder. your fingers are at his undercut going over the sensitive skin, moving further up to the longer strands of his hair as you do your best to soothe him.
you give him space as he cries into your shoulder, still holding him but doing nothing more as his body has it's emotional release. and when he's finally burnt out, your hands hold his face as you kiss him all overābringing him back to his senses.
when you finally tempt him back to bed, it only takes his head resting on the warmth of your chest and a few strokes of his hair to have him peacefully sleeping.
and you'll do it again and again, every night as long as it makes him feel better.
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Summary: Nanami Kento is the man, the myth, and the legend. Also, the man who is about to discover that no amount of discipline can withstand the unbridled craziness of a reader on a mission. Today's mission? Touch. The. Undercut. Let's see how long he survives. <3
Gojo Satoru's version
Nanami Kento was a disciplined man.
A man of structure, of routine, of calculated control. He did not falter. He did not waver. He certainly did not allow himself to be flustered over something as simple as a woman flirting with him.
Or so he thought.
Because then there was you.
You, with your sharp wit, your unfairly charming smile, and your absolute refusal to let him be at peace.
You were a nuisance, really. A menace to his carefully constructed walls.
And the worst part?
You knew it.
Which was precisely why he was currently suffering as you leaned over his desk, arms folded, chin resting on them, watching him with a look that spelled trouble.
Nanami triedātried so hardāto ignore you.
But he felt your stare, burning into him with unrelenting intensity.
Finally, he sighed, adjusting his tie as he glanced down at you.
"Is there a reason youāre watching me like that?"
"Hmm," you hummed, tapping a finger against your chin. "I was just thinkingā¦"
"Thatās dangerous."
You grinned. "I know."
He exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Enlighten me, then."
"I wanna touch your undercut."
Nanami froze.
His grip tightened slightly on the pen he was holding, and he blinked at you slowly, as if giving you a chance to correct yourself.
You did not.
Instead, you tilted your head, shameless and unrepentant, eyes flickering to the clean, sharp lines of his undercut like you were already imagining your fingers buried in it.
Nanami set his pen down.
"You want to what?"
"Touch it," you repeated, plain as day, with no shame whatsoever. "Iāve been thinking about it for a while."
His jaw ticked. "Thatāsā¦ concerning."
"Why?" you asked, blinking up at him like you werenāt currently dismantling his self-restraint brick by brick.
Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply.
"Because," he said, patient but firm, "I am not some attraction at a petting zoo for you to gawk at andā"
"Then stop looking like one," you interrupted, smug, bold, completely unbothered.
He opened his mouth. Paused. Shut it.
Because what counter could he possibly have to that?
Nanami prided himself on his ability to maintain his composure. But youāyou made it your personal mission to test his limits at every given opportunity.
And now, you were winning.
"Just once?" you pressed, your voice dropping to something syrupy sweet, tilting your chin up ever so slightly. "Promise Iāll be gentle, Nanami."
He swallowed. Hard.
The way you said his name, soft and coaxing, made his pulse stutter.
He knew he should shut this down immediately, should deny you and go back to his work, butā
Your eyes. Your voice. The way your fingers twitched in anticipation.
He was a damned fool because he found himself leaning forward just slightly, enough to let you know that he wasnāt entirely opposed to the idea.
Just once. Just to get it over with.
The moment your fingers brushed against his undercut, he stiffened.
Your touch was soft, careful, and yetā
Nanami exhaled sharply, a slow, measured breath through his nose, his lashes flickering as you continued, fingers smoothing over the buzzed undercut before trailing into his softer hair.
"Hmm," you hummed, eyes glimmering as you deliberately dragged your fingers through the contrast in texture, a lazy smile spreading across your lips.
Nanami forced himself to remain still, to ignore the way his skin burned under your touch, the way something inside him threatened to unravel.
"You okay there, Kento?" you teased, your voice like silk, your gaze flickering up to his.
His jaw tightened at the use of his first name.
"Iām fine," he said, firm. Too firm.
You giggled, fingers skimming lower, playing with the edge of his hairline. "Youāre so tense, Nanami. You act like Iām trying to kill you, not touch your undercut."
"Same difference," he muttered under his breath.
You laughedāsoftly, liltingly, utterly delighted.
And Nanami, against all his better judgment, felt himself melt.
Just a little.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Are you satisfied now?"
"Almost," you murmured, and before he could process itā
You leaned in, lips brushing just behind his ear, and whispered, low and sweet,
"It really suits you, Kento."
Nanami short-circuited.
Every single cell in his body screamed at him to remain composed, to not react, to not give you the satisfaction of knowing exactly what you were doing to him.
But the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his eyes darkened just slightly as he exhaledā
You knew.
And judging by the smug little smile on your lips, you were thoroughly enjoying watching him struggle.
"Youāre insufferable," he muttered, shaking his head, but the way his voice dropped an octave completely betrayed him.
"Mm," you mused, stepping back finally, satisfied. "You like it."
Nanami sighed. "I tolerate it."
You grinned. "Thatās just your way of saying I can do it again."
He groaned, tilting his head back, resigned to his fate.
And deep downāthough heād rather perish than admit itā
Maybe he wouldnāt mind if you did.
A/N: š³ļø Would you rather touch Nanamiās undercut OR listen to him explain the intricacies of bread making for an hour in that deep, smooth voice of his?
Gojo Satoru's version - [Tumblr/Ao3]
Masterlist
The header image is from anime, dividers are mine, and the engagement banners are from @saradika-graphics.
