Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains in soft, golden streaks, warming the quiet room. You stirred slowly, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, becoming aware of the steady presence behind you, an arm draped securely around your waist, a familiar warmth at your back. Nanami was still asleep.

That alone made you pause.

Kento Nanami was not a man who overslept. His days were structured, precise, predictable. And yet here he was, breathing evenly, his hold on you firm but relaxed in a way that only existed in these rare, unguarded moments. You smiled faintly, letting yourself enjoy it for just a second longer.

“Kento,” you murmured softly, your voice still thick with sleep. “You’re going to be late.”

He exhaled against your neck, barely stirring, his arm tightening just a fraction as if unwilling to let you go. “Five minutes,” he muttered, his voice rough and low.

You almost laughed.

Before you could answer, the bedroom door creaked open. Small, uneven footsteps padded across the floor, followed by a sudden burst of energy.

“Mama!”

A tiny body launched onto the bed without warning, bouncing between you and Nanami with enough force to break whatever calm remained. You let out a surprised laugh, quickly steadying him before he could topple off.

“Yuji! Careful!”

Your three-year-old grinned up at you, bright and unstoppable, his pink hair sticking out in every direction. Behind you, Nanami let out a quiet groan, clearly dragged from sleep against his will.

“Yuji” he said, not even opening his eyes yet, “it is 6:30 in the morning.”

Yuji immediately crawled over you, determined, until he reached him. “Papa! Wake up! I’m hungry!”

Nanami cracked one eye open, unimpressed. “You are always hungry.”

“Yes!” Yuji declared proudly, as if that proved his point.

You pressed your face into the pillow to muffle a laugh, shoulders shaking. Nanami, meanwhile, accepted defeat with a quiet sigh. He sat up slowly, one hand already moving to steady Yuji as he shifted, preventing the inevitable fall before it could happen.

His gaze flickered to you, softening just slightly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you replied, smiling.

The moment lingered, quiet and warm until Yuji grabbed Nanami’s face with both hands.

“Papa! Pancakes!”

Nanami blinked slowly, processing. “…That is not how mornings work.”

“PANCAKES!”

He turned his head just enough to look at you. You raised your hands immediately. “Don’t look at me. He gets that from you.”

“That is objectively false.”

Yuji gasped, scandalized. “Papa said no pancakes?”

“I did not say no,” Nanami corrected calmly. “I said that is not how mornings work.”

Yuji’s lip began to wobble.

You leaned closer to Nanami and whispered, “You’re losing him.”

Nanami closed his eyes briefly, as though bracing himself. “…Fine,” he said at last. “Pancakes.”

Yuji lit up instantly. “YAY!”

He threw himself forward in excitement, nearly knocking Nanami backward, but Nanami caught him effortlessly, one hand supporting him with practiced ease. There it was that quiet, instinctive gentleness he showed only here, at home.

“Up,” Nanami said, shifting already. “Both of you.”

“You just agreed to pancakes,” you pointed out, making no move to get up.

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “Which requires someone to cook them.”

“You love cooking,” you said sweetly.

“I love efficiency,” he corrected. “This is not efficient.”

Yuji tugged on his sleeve. “Papa, carry me!”

Nanami sighed, but there was no real resistance in it. He lifted Yuji onto his hip without hesitation, steady and sure. Then his free hand reached out to you.

“Come.”

You took it.

The kitchen quickly filled with quiet domestic sounds—the soft clink of bowls, the gentle sizzle of batter hitting the pan, and Yuji’s constant stream of chatter. He hovered nearby, thoroughly invested in the process, even if his version of helping was questionable at best.

“Mama, look! I’m helping!”

“You’re eating the chocolate chips.”

“I’m helping eat them!”

Nanami didn’t even glance over. “That is not assistance.”

Yuji giggled, completely unbothered.

You leaned against the counter, watching as Nanami moved with calm precision. Even now, he measured carefully, flipped pancakes cleanly, worked with the same quiet discipline he brought to everything else.

Yuji tugged at his pant leg. “Papa, can I flip one?”

Nanami paused, considering the request seriously. “…No.”

“Aww!”

“You may observe.”

“That’s boring!”

Nanami placed a finished pancake onto a plate before crouching slightly to meet Yuji at eye level. “Mastery requires patience,” he said calmly.

Yuji blinked, clearly lost. “…What’s mast—mast—”

“Practice,” you translated from the counter.

“Oh!” Yuji nodded with complete understanding. “Okay.”

Nanami glanced at you briefly. You smiled. He looked away, but not before you caught the faintest hint of warmth in his expression.

Later, Yuji sat at the table, happily eating and somehow managing to get syrup everywhere his hands, his cheeks, even the chair. Nanami stood beside you, finally still for a moment, watching the quiet chaos.

“You slept in,” you teased gently.

“…An exception,” he replied.

“You should do it more often.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted from Yuji back to you, thoughtful. Then his hand found yours, steady and warm.

“This,” he said simply.

Yuji suddenly looked up, holding something high in the air. “Mama! Papa! Look! Heart pancake!”

It was uneven, slightly burnt, and vaguely heart-shaped at best—but he looked impossibly proud of it.

You gasped. “Wow, Yuji! That’s amazing!”

Nanami studied it with a critical eye. “…It is not symmetrical.”

Yuji’s expression faltered.

You elbowed Nanami lightly.

Nanami smirked and snickered before he adjusted, just slightly. “…But it is acceptable.”

Yuji beamed again, completely reassured.

You laughed softly, leaning into Nanami’s side, your hand still in his.

The morning carried on from there messy and noisy. And as you watched them, you knew there wasn’t a single part of it you would change.

Your sweet husband nanami buys you lacy nightgowns and has you put a fashion show on for him… it’s more a treat for him than you.

Husband!Nanami x wife!reader. Cw: Established Relationship, Suggestive, Fluff, Domestic, Lace & Nightgowns, Intimacy, Kissing

ᛝ This is apart of @yoonsucks 3k interlace event!! I hope you enjoy :3

It started with a single box from a boutique Nanami usually walked past without a second glance. Then came another. And another.

Nanami Kento was a man of precision and practicality, but he had developed a very specific, very expensive hobby: seeing you draped in the finest silk and lace money could buy. He claimed it was about "comfort" and "quality of sleep," but the way his gaze lingered on the hem of a chemise told a different story.

Tonight, the bed was covered in tissue paper and delicate fabrics.

"Kento, there are at least five here," you laughed, picking up a floor-length sheer gown with intricate floral embroidery. "When am I supposed to wear all of these?"

"Ideally? Every night," he replied smoothly, loosening his tie as he leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were dark, tracking the way the moonlight caught the shimmer of the fabric in your hands. "But I haven't seen them on you yet. Consider it a quality control check. A private showing, if you will."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up your neck. You ducked into the bathroom, emerging minutes later in the first piece, a baby pink satin slip with a neckline held together by nothing but thin silk ribbons.

Nanami didn't say a word. He simply sat in the armchair by the window, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looking every bit the discerning critic. He gestured for you to turn.

"The color suits you," he noted, his voice a low vibration. "But the lace at the hip... it’s a bit distracting. Next."

The "fashion show" continued with a rhythm that felt more like a slow burn than a parade.

The second gown is a white, Victorian-inspired nightgown with puffed sleeves and enough lace to be a wedding dress. He called it "innocent," though his smirk suggested he enjoyed the irony.

The third is a black, knee-length gown with a slit that traveled dangerously high. Nanami plays with the ends of the fabric and drags his other hand up your thigh. He hums and lightly taps your butt signaling you to try on the next one.

By the time you reached the final box, the air in the bedroom felt heavy. You stepped out wearing a pale blue piece, completely backless and trimmed with lace that rubbed against your skin.

Nanami stood up. The "critic" persona vanished, replaced by the man who had spent the last hour meticulously memorizing every inch of skin those gowns failed to cover.

"This one," he murmured, crossing the room until he was standing directly in your space. He didn't touch you yet, but the heat radiating from him was enough. "This is the winner."

"Oh? And what does the winner get?" you teasingly giggle, reaching up to toy with the collar of his dress shirt.

"My undivided attention," he whispered.

He finally reached out, his large, calloused hands contrasting beautifully with the delicate lace at your waist. He pulled you in flush against him, his lips finding the sensitive pulse point just below your ear.

"You look breathtaking," he breathed against your skin, a rare crack in his stoic composure. "I think I’ve spent my money very wisely."

He captured your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted of lingering desire. It was the kind of kiss that promised the nightgowns wouldn't stay on for very long. As his hands wandered over the expensive silk he’d gifted you, you realized that while he loved the fashion show, he loved the finale where the clothes ended up on the floor even more.

“Kento,” you whispered between kisses.

“Hush,” he groaned, his thumb tracing the line of the lace. “I’m still evaluating the texture.”

The rain tap-taps a steady, rhythmic beat against the kitchen window, perfectly matching the low hum of the refrigerator. Inside, the apartment is warm, smelling faintly of rich vanilla, roasted coffee, and the clean, cedarwood scent of Kento’s cologne.

For Nanami, turning another year older isn’t cause for a grand spectacle. In his line of work, aging isn't just a milestone; it’s a privilege. He doesn't need a loud venue or a crowd of colleagues trying to coax him into drinking more than he cares to.

He just wants this. This exact stillness.

"You're staring again," you say softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. You’re holding a small, perfectly frosted cake nothing overly sweet, just a classic Earl Grey chiffon with a light cream cover, exactly how he likes it. A single, unlit candle sits in the center.

Kento sits at the dining table, his tie already discarded on the entryway bench, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Without his signature glasses, his eyes look softer, framed by the faint, tired lines of a man who carries the weight of the world but has finally found a safe place to put it down.

A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Am I? Forgive me. I was just thinking how fortunate I am."

You walk over and set the cake down between you. "Happy birthday, Kento." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding down to lace his fingers through yours. His skin is warm, a comforting anchor. "Thank you. Did you make this yourself?"

"With a little help from the bakery down the street for the frosting technique," you admit, sitting down in the chair next to him rather than across. "But the baking was all me. Go on, light the candle. Make a wish."

Kento eyes the single wick. He’s a pragmatic man who doesn't believe in superstitions or magic wishes, but he looks at you, sees the expectant sparkle in your eyes, and relents. He pulls a sleek lighter from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet clink. The small flame dances, casting a warm golden glow over his sharp features.

He closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them, they fix directly on you. He blows out the candle, a thin wisp of smoke curling up into the air.

"What did you wish for?" you ask, leaning in.

"If I tell you, it won't come true, isn't that the rule?" he teases lightly, his voice a deep, soothing baritone. He reaches up, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "Though, truth be told, I didn't wish for anything. Everything I could possibly want is already sitting right in front of me."

You feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Even after being married to him, his quiet, deliberate romanticism can still catch you off guard. Kento isn't a man of grand, empty gestures; every word he speaks is deliberate, entirely honest, and weighted with absolute devotion.

"You've gotten smoother with age, Mr. Nanami," you laugh softly, leaning into his touch.

"I am merely stating facts," he replies, his expression earnest.

He cuts two neat, perfectly equal slices of cake. As you both eat in comfortable, companionable silence, the tension from his long week seems to visibly melt from his shoulders. He eats slowly, savoring the subtle tea flavor, nodding his approval.

Once the plates are cleared, Kento doesn't let you get up to wash them. Instead, he catches your hand, pulling you gently onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. His arms wrap securely around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as if guarding his most precious treasure.

"No work thoughts tonight?" you murmur against his skin.

"None," Kento promises, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, then down to your temple. "Tonight, I am strictly off the clock. I am only yours."

The rain continues to fall outside, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world. In the quiet safety of your home, there are no curses, no schedules, and no demands. Just Kento, completely at peace, celebrating the birth of a life he finally loves living.

A/n: happy bday to my husband I love and miss you

The rain tap-taps a steady, rhythmic beat against the kitchen window, perfectly matching the low hum of the refrigerator. Inside, the apartment is warm, smelling faintly of rich vanilla, roasted coffee, and the clean, cedarwood scent of Kento’s cologne.

For Nanami, turning another year older isn’t cause for a grand spectacle. In his line of work, aging isn't just a milestone; it’s a privilege. He doesn't need a loud venue or a crowd of colleagues trying to coax him into drinking more than he cares to.

He just wants this. This exact stillness.

"You're staring again," you say softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. You’re holding a small, perfectly frosted cake nothing overly sweet, just a classic Earl Grey chiffon with a light cream cover, exactly how he likes it. A single, unlit candle sits in the center.

Kento sits at the dining table, his tie already discarded on the entryway bench, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Without his signature glasses, his eyes look softer, framed by the faint, tired lines of a man who carries the weight of the world but has finally found a safe place to put it down.

A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Am I? Forgive me. I was just thinking how fortunate I am."

You walk over and set the cake down between you. "Happy birthday, Kento." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding down to lace his fingers through yours. His skin is warm, a comforting anchor. "Thank you. Did you make this yourself?"

"With a little help from the bakery down the street for the frosting technique," you admit, sitting down in the chair next to him rather than across. "But the baking was all me. Go on, light the candle. Make a wish."

Kento eyes the single wick. He’s a pragmatic man who doesn't believe in superstitions or magic wishes, but he looks at you, sees the expectant sparkle in your eyes, and relents. He pulls a sleek lighter from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet clink. The small flame dances, casting a warm golden glow over his sharp features.

He closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them, they fix directly on you. He blows out the candle, a thin wisp of smoke curling up into the air.

"What did you wish for?" you ask, leaning in.

"If I tell you, it won't come true, isn't that the rule?" he teases lightly, his voice a deep, soothing baritone. He reaches up, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "Though, truth be told, I didn't wish for anything. Everything I could possibly want is already sitting right in front of me."

You feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Even after being married to him, his quiet, deliberate romanticism can still catch you off guard. Kento isn't a man of grand, empty gestures; every word he speaks is deliberate, entirely honest, and weighted with absolute devotion.

"You've gotten smoother with age, Mr. Nanami," you laugh softly, leaning into his touch.

"I am merely stating facts," he replies, his expression earnest.

He cuts two neat, perfectly equal slices of cake. As you both eat in comfortable, companionable silence, the tension from his long week seems to visibly melt from his shoulders. He eats slowly, savoring the subtle tea flavor, nodding his approval.

Once the plates are cleared, Kento doesn't let you get up to wash them. Instead, he catches your hand, pulling you gently onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. His arms wrap securely around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as if guarding his most precious treasure.

"No work thoughts tonight?" you murmur against his skin.

"None," Kento promises, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, then down to your temple. "Tonight, I am strictly off the clock. I am only yours."

The rain continues to fall outside, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world. In the quiet safety of your home, there are no curses, no schedules, and no demands. Just Kento, completely at peace, celebrating the birth of a life he finally loves living.

A/n: happy bday to my husband I love and miss you

The rain tap-taps a steady, rhythmic beat against the kitchen window, perfectly matching the low hum of the refrigerator. Inside, the apartment is warm, smelling faintly of rich vanilla, roasted coffee, and the clean, cedarwood scent of Kento’s cologne.

For Nanami, turning another year older isn’t cause for a grand spectacle. In his line of work, aging isn't just a milestone; it’s a privilege. He doesn't need a loud venue or a crowd of colleagues trying to coax him into drinking more than he cares to.

He just wants this. This exact stillness.

"You're staring again," you say softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. You’re holding a small, perfectly frosted cake nothing overly sweet, just a classic Earl Grey chiffon with a light cream cover, exactly how he likes it. A single, unlit candle sits in the center.

Kento sits at the dining table, his tie already discarded on the entryway bench, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Without his signature glasses, his eyes look softer, framed by the faint, tired lines of a man who carries the weight of the world but has finally found a safe place to put it down.

A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Am I? Forgive me. I was just thinking how fortunate I am."

You walk over and set the cake down between you. "Happy birthday, Kento." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding down to lace his fingers through yours. His skin is warm, a comforting anchor. "Thank you. Did you make this yourself?"

"With a little help from the bakery down the street for the frosting technique," you admit, sitting down in the chair next to him rather than across. "But the baking was all me. Go on, light the candle. Make a wish."

Kento eyes the single wick. He’s a pragmatic man who doesn't believe in superstitions or magic wishes, but he looks at you, sees the expectant sparkle in your eyes, and relents. He pulls a sleek lighter from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet clink. The small flame dances, casting a warm golden glow over his sharp features.

He closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them, they fix directly on you. He blows out the candle, a thin wisp of smoke curling up into the air.

"What did you wish for?" you ask, leaning in.

"If I tell you, it won't come true, isn't that the rule?" he teases lightly, his voice a deep, soothing baritone. He reaches up, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "Though, truth be told, I didn't wish for anything. Everything I could possibly want is already sitting right in front of me."

You feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Even after being married to him, his quiet, deliberate romanticism can still catch you off guard. Kento isn't a man of grand, empty gestures; every word he speaks is deliberate, entirely honest, and weighted with absolute devotion.

"You've gotten smoother with age, Mr. Nanami," you laugh softly, leaning into his touch.

"I am merely stating facts," he replies, his expression earnest.

He cuts two neat, perfectly equal slices of cake. As you both eat in comfortable, companionable silence, the tension from his long week seems to visibly melt from his shoulders. He eats slowly, savoring the subtle tea flavor, nodding his approval.

Once the plates are cleared, Kento doesn't let you get up to wash them. Instead, he catches your hand, pulling you gently onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. His arms wrap securely around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as if guarding his most precious treasure.

"No work thoughts tonight?" you murmur against his skin.

"None," Kento promises, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, then down to your temple. "Tonight, I am strictly off the clock. I am only yours."

The rain continues to fall outside, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world. In the quiet safety of your home, there are no curses, no schedules, and no demands. Just Kento, completely at peace, celebrating the birth of a life he finally loves living.

A/n: happy bday to my husband I love and miss you

The rain tap-taps a steady, rhythmic beat against the kitchen window, perfectly matching the low hum of the refrigerator. Inside, the apartment is warm, smelling faintly of rich vanilla, roasted coffee, and the clean, cedarwood scent of Kento’s cologne.

For Nanami, turning another year older isn’t cause for a grand spectacle. In his line of work, aging isn't just a milestone; it’s a privilege. He doesn't need a loud venue or a crowd of colleagues trying to coax him into drinking more than he cares to.

He just wants this. This exact stillness.

"You're staring again," you say softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. You’re holding a small, perfectly frosted cake nothing overly sweet, just a classic Earl Grey chiffon with a light cream cover, exactly how he likes it. A single, unlit candle sits in the center.

Kento sits at the dining table, his tie already discarded on the entryway bench, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Without his signature glasses, his eyes look softer, framed by the faint, tired lines of a man who carries the weight of the world but has finally found a safe place to put it down.

A small, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Am I? Forgive me. I was just thinking how fortunate I am."

You walk over and set the cake down between you. "Happy birthday, Kento." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek

He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding down to lace his fingers through yours. His skin is warm, a comforting anchor. "Thank you. Did you make this yourself?"

"With a little help from the bakery down the street for the frosting technique," you admit, sitting down in the chair next to him rather than across. "But the baking was all me. Go on, light the candle. Make a wish."

Kento eyes the single wick. He’s a pragmatic man who doesn't believe in superstitions or magic wishes, but he looks at you, sees the expectant sparkle in your eyes, and relents. He pulls a sleek lighter from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet clink. The small flame dances, casting a warm golden glow over his sharp features.

He closes his eyes for a brief second. When he opens them, they fix directly on you. He blows out the candle, a thin wisp of smoke curling up into the air.

"What did you wish for?" you ask, leaning in.

"If I tell you, it won't come true, isn't that the rule?" he teases lightly, his voice a deep, soothing baritone. He reaches up, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "Though, truth be told, I didn't wish for anything. Everything I could possibly want is already sitting right in front of me."

You feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Even after being married to him, his quiet, deliberate romanticism can still catch you off guard. Kento isn't a man of grand, empty gestures; every word he speaks is deliberate, entirely honest, and weighted with absolute devotion.

"You've gotten smoother with age, Mr. Nanami," you laugh softly, leaning into his touch.

"I am merely stating facts," he replies, his expression earnest.

He cuts two neat, perfectly equal slices of cake. As you both eat in comfortable, companionable silence, the tension from his long week seems to visibly melt from his shoulders. He eats slowly, savoring the subtle tea flavor, nodding his approval.

Once the plates are cleared, Kento doesn't let you get up to wash them. Instead, he catches your hand, pulling you gently onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. His arms wrap securely around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as if guarding his most precious treasure.

"No work thoughts tonight?" you murmur against his skin.

"None," Kento promises, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, then down to your temple. "Tonight, I am strictly off the clock. I am only yours."

The rain continues to fall outside, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world. In the quiet safety of your home, there are no curses, no schedules, and no demands. Just Kento, completely at peace, celebrating the birth of a life he finally loves living.

A/n: happy bday to my husband I love and miss you

Please Tip Your Server! ‎⋆˙⟡ᝰ.ᐟ

⋆˚࿔ Mixed media Smau, fem reader, modern and restaurant au, fluff and angst, multiple love interest options, college au (kinda?). Inspired by bistro huddy and my waitress fantasy. owner!Gojo, co-owner!Geto, Manager!nanami, Headchef!sukuna, linecook!choso, bartender!shoko, Hostess!utahime, server!reader

Tag list open!!

Main Menu

1. Appetizers Please!

2. On the House

3. Burnt coffee

4. Heating up

Sukuna route unlocked!

Sugar and spice

Closing (new!)

A/n: my first series and I’m super excited!!

The heavy front door clicked open, and before Toji could even kick off his boots, he heard the familiar, frantic thump of fe t on the hardwood.

A second later, you practically threw yourself into his torso.

"Whoa there, princess," Toji grunted, though a lazy smirk immediately pulled at his lips. He caught you effortlessly, one massive hand anchoring around your waist while the other instinctively went to the base of your soft furry ears, giving them a firm, affectionate squeeze.

Your tail was thumping a mile a minute against his thighs, the rhythm echoing your pure, unadulterated joy. It didn't matter if he was gone for two hours or two days; you always welcomed him like he’d just returned from a years-long voyage.

"Missed me that much, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right against your chest.

He smelled like rain, cheap convenience store tobacco, and a faint, metallic tang that you’d learned to associate with his "late-night shifts." You knew what he did out there in the dark. You knew about the blood, the cursed energy, and the heavy contracts he carried out. But right now, looking up into his tired, dark eyes, none of that mattered. He was just yourToji. And he was home.

"Look at you, practically vibrating," Toji chuckled, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, letting your sweet, comforting scent wash away the grime of his latest job. The tension in his broad shoulders visibly melted.

He scooped you up entirely, lifting you so your feet dangled, and carried you over to the worn-out living room couch. He collapsed onto the cushions, pulling you right on top of his chest. You curled up instantly, your tail finally slowing to a content, rhythmic wag.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his large, scarred hand sliding up to stroke the length of your back, smoothing down your hair and ears. "Always waiting up for me."

"Because you take too long," you pouted, booping your nose against his jawline.

Toji let out a low laugh, the sound rough and warm. "Had a messy client. Took more clean-up than usual. But I'm all yours now, puppy."

He leaned up just enough to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and laced with a possessive warmth that made your toes curl. His thumb traced your cheekbone, wiping away a stray strand of hair. When he pulled back, he didn't go far, resting his face only inches away from yours, his dark eyes softer than anyone else in the world would ever be allowed to see.

"You eat yet?" he asked, his thumb gently stroking your lower lip.

You shook your head, whining softly, leaning into his touch.

"Figures," he sighed, though his expression was nothing but fond. "C'mon. Let's get some food in you, and then you can sleep right on top of me all night. Deal?"

You barked a soft, happy agreement, nuzzling your face right under his chin. Toji wrapped his arms tighter around you, holding his favorite piece of comfort close, perfectly content to stay right there for a little while longer.

The heavy front door clicked open, and before Toji could even kick off his boots, he heard the familiar, frantic thump of fe t on the hardwood.

A second later, you practically threw yourself into his torso.

"Whoa there, princess," Toji grunted, though a lazy smirk immediately pulled at his lips. He caught you effortlessly, one massive hand anchoring around your waist while the other instinctively went to the base of your soft furry ears, giving them a firm, affectionate squeeze.

Your tail was thumping a mile a minute against his thighs, the rhythm echoing your pure, unadulterated joy. It didn't matter if he was gone for two hours or two days; you always welcomed him like he’d just returned from a years-long voyage.

"Missed me that much, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right against your chest.

He smelled like rain, cheap convenience store tobacco, and a faint, metallic tang that you’d learned to associate with his "late-night shifts." You knew what he did out there in the dark. You knew about the blood, the cursed energy, and the heavy contracts he carried out. But right now, looking up into his tired, dark eyes, none of that mattered. He was just yourToji. And he was home.

"Look at you, practically vibrating," Toji chuckled, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, letting your sweet, comforting scent wash away the grime of his latest job. The tension in his broad shoulders visibly melted.

He scooped you up entirely, lifting you so your feet dangled, and carried you over to the worn-out living room couch. He collapsed onto the cushions, pulling you right on top of his chest. You curled up instantly, your tail finally slowing to a content, rhythmic wag.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his large, scarred hand sliding up to stroke the length of your back, smoothing down your hair and ears. "Always waiting up for me."

"Because you take too long," you pouted, booping your nose against his jawline.

Toji let out a low laugh, the sound rough and warm. "Had a messy client. Took more clean-up than usual. But I'm all yours now, puppy."

He leaned up just enough to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and laced with a possessive warmth that made your toes curl. His thumb traced your cheekbone, wiping away a stray strand of hair. When he pulled back, he didn't go far, resting his face only inches away from yours, his dark eyes softer than anyone else in the world would ever be allowed to see.

"You eat yet?" he asked, his thumb gently stroking your lower lip.

You shook your head, whining softly, leaning into his touch.

"Figures," he sighed, though his expression was nothing but fond. "C'mon. Let's get some food in you, and then you can sleep right on top of me all night. Deal?"

You barked a soft, happy agreement, nuzzling your face right under his chin. Toji wrapped his arms tighter around you, holding his favorite piece of comfort close, perfectly content to stay right there for a little while longer.

The heavy front door clicked open, and before Toji could even kick off his boots, he heard the familiar, frantic thump of fe t on the hardwood.

A second later, you practically threw yourself into his torso.

"Whoa there, princess," Toji grunted, though a lazy smirk immediately pulled at his lips. He caught you effortlessly, one massive hand anchoring around your waist while the other instinctively went to the base of your soft furry ears, giving them a firm, affectionate squeeze.

Your tail was thumping a mile a minute against his thighs, the rhythm echoing your pure, unadulterated joy. It didn't matter if he was gone for two hours or two days; you always welcomed him like he’d just returned from a years-long voyage.

"Missed me that much, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right against your chest.

He smelled like rain, cheap convenience store tobacco, and a faint, metallic tang that you’d learned to associate with his "late-night shifts." You knew what he did out there in the dark. You knew about the blood, the cursed energy, and the heavy contracts he carried out. But right now, looking up into his tired, dark eyes, none of that mattered. He was just yourToji. And he was home.

"Look at you, practically vibrating," Toji chuckled, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, letting your sweet, comforting scent wash away the grime of his latest job. The tension in his broad shoulders visibly melted.

He scooped you up entirely, lifting you so your feet dangled, and carried you over to the worn-out living room couch. He collapsed onto the cushions, pulling you right on top of his chest. You curled up instantly, your tail finally slowing to a content, rhythmic wag.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his large, scarred hand sliding up to stroke the length of your back, smoothing down your hair and ears. "Always waiting up for me."

"Because you take too long," you pouted, booping your nose against his jawline.

Toji let out a low laugh, the sound rough and warm. "Had a messy client. Took more clean-up than usual. But I'm all yours now, puppy."

He leaned up just enough to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and laced with a possessive warmth that made your toes curl. His thumb traced your cheekbone, wiping away a stray strand of hair. When he pulled back, he didn't go far, resting his face only inches away from yours, his dark eyes softer than anyone else in the world would ever be allowed to see.

"You eat yet?" he asked, his thumb gently stroking your lower lip.

You shook your head, whining softly, leaning into his touch.

"Figures," he sighed, though his expression was nothing but fond. "C'mon. Let's get some food in you, and then you can sleep right on top of me all night. Deal?"

You barked a soft, happy agreement, nuzzling your face right under his chin. Toji wrapped his arms tighter around you, holding his favorite piece of comfort close, perfectly content to stay right there for a little while longer.

The heavy front door clicked open, and before Toji could even kick off his boots, he heard the familiar, frantic thump of fe t on the hardwood.

A second later, you practically threw yourself into his torso.

"Whoa there, princess," Toji grunted, though a lazy smirk immediately pulled at his lips. He caught you effortlessly, one massive hand anchoring around your waist while the other instinctively went to the base of your soft furry ears, giving them a firm, affectionate squeeze.

Your tail was thumping a mile a minute against his thighs, the rhythm echoing your pure, unadulterated joy. It didn't matter if he was gone for two hours or two days; you always welcomed him like he’d just returned from a years-long voyage.

"Missed me that much, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right against your chest.

He smelled like rain, cheap convenience store tobacco, and a faint, metallic tang that you’d learned to associate with his "late-night shifts." You knew what he did out there in the dark. You knew about the blood, the cursed energy, and the heavy contracts he carried out. But right now, looking up into his tired, dark eyes, none of that mattered. He was just yourToji. And he was home.

"Look at you, practically vibrating," Toji chuckled, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, letting your sweet, comforting scent wash away the grime of his latest job. The tension in his broad shoulders visibly melted.

He scooped you up entirely, lifting you so your feet dangled, and carried you over to the worn-out living room couch. He collapsed onto the cushions, pulling you right on top of his chest. You curled up instantly, your tail finally slowing to a content, rhythmic wag.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his large, scarred hand sliding up to stroke the length of your back, smoothing down your hair and ears. "Always waiting up for me."

"Because you take too long," you pouted, booping your nose against his jawline.

Toji let out a low laugh, the sound rough and warm. "Had a messy client. Took more clean-up than usual. But I'm all yours now, puppy."

He leaned up just enough to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and laced with a possessive warmth that made your toes curl. His thumb traced your cheekbone, wiping away a stray strand of hair. When he pulled back, he didn't go far, resting his face only inches away from yours, his dark eyes softer than anyone else in the world would ever be allowed to see.

"You eat yet?" he asked, his thumb gently stroking your lower lip.

You shook your head, whining softly, leaning into his touch.

"Figures," he sighed, though his expression was nothing but fond. "C'mon. Let's get some food in you, and then you can sleep right on top of me all night. Deal?"

You barked a soft, happy agreement, nuzzling your face right under his chin. Toji wrapped his arms tighter around you, holding his favorite piece of comfort close, perfectly content to stay right there for a little while longer.

The soft, rhythmic click-clack of your mechanical keyboard was the only sound in the apartment, punctuated occasionally by the scratching of a highlighter against a textbook. It was midterm week, which meant you were fully in your element: oversized glasses slipping down your nose, and surrounded by a fortress of study guides.

You were so dialed into your macroeconomics notes that you didn't even hear the front door click open, or the heavy, familiar footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Suddenly, a massive, tattooed hand descended over your notebook, flatly blocking your view of the page.

"Alright, brat. Eyes off the paper," Sukuna’s deep, gravelly voice echoed right above your ear. He leaned over the back of your desk chair, his chest pressing against your back. He smelled like winter air and the expensive cologne he wore to his business lectures.

"Sukuna, please, I have three more pages to outline," you groaned, trying to peek around his hand.

Before Sukuna could reply, a second shadow loomed over your desk. Toji dropped his gym bag onto the floor with a heavy thud, yawning as he stretched his massive frame. He was still in his gray university athletics hoodie, looking effortlessly rugged. He walked over, casting a glance at your frantic setup.

"Still at it, doll?" Toji murmured, a lazy, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You've been in that exact spot since I left for practice four hours ago."

"I'm fine, really—"

"You're done," Sukuna interrupted flatly. He didn't ask for permission; he simply hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you clean out of the desk chair.

"Hey! Put me down!" you gasped, your face flushing as your legs dangled in the air.

Sukuna didn't budge, carrying you over to the living room couch like you weighed absolutely nothing. He dropped you onto the cushions, and before you could sit up, he leaned down, trapping you beneath him. His four eyes, a chaotic byproduct of his actual appearance that he usually hid with contacts at school, but proudly wore at home gleamed with amusement.

"You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you, princess?" Sukuna murmured, his fingers gently gripping your chin to tilt your face up. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tasted faintly of the black coffee he’d had earlier. It was deep and commanding, demanding your full attention until your mind went completely blank, the economics formulas evaporating from your brain.

When he pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your lips, and your breath was hitched.

"Better," Sukuna smirked, his thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"My turn," Toji rumbled. He walked over and unceremoniously wedged his massive body onto the couch next to you, pulling your lower half right into his lap. He reached up, gently plucking the glasses off your face and setting them on the coffee table. "You're squinting, beautiful. Your eyes need a break."

Toji nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly against your sensitive skin. You let out a soft sigh, your hands automatically finding their way into his dark, messy hair. He kissed up your jawline, slow and deliberate, before capturing your lips in a lazy, warm kiss that felt like pure comfort. Toji’s kisses were always like him, seemingly effortless but completely intoxicating.

You melted completely between them, your previous academic anxiety dissolving into the couch cushions.

"See? Was that so hard?" Toji murmured against your lips, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest as his large hands slid under the hem of your oversized sweater, resting warmly against the bare skin of your waist. His touch sent a sudden spike of heat straight down your spine.

"You both are terrible influences," you breathed out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I'm going to fail."

Sukuna let out a sharp, mocking laugh, shifting so he was lying flush against your other side, his arm draping heavily over your waist, effectively pinning you between two massive, muscular walls of heat.

Sukuna let his fingers trace light, teasing circles on your hip, dangerously close to where Toji’s hands were resting. "But you won't. You're too smart for your own good, nerd."

"He's right," Toji agreed, his thumb stroking your hip bone underneath your sweater, his eyes darkening slightly as he looked down at your flushed face and swollen lips. "But right now, you're off the clock. Understand, sweetheart?"

Caught between Sukuna’s intense, burning gaze and Toji’s heavy, seductive warmth, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue. You let your head sink back into the pillow, your hands resting on Toji’s broad chest while Sukuna’s fingers tangled tangled with yours.

"Fine," you whispered, a small smile finally breaking through. "Just for tonight."

"Good girl," Sukuna murmured, leaning down to claim your lips once more, while Toji’s hands shifted lower, pulling you even closer into the heat of their embrace.

The soft, rhythmic click-clack of your mechanical keyboard was the only sound in the apartment, punctuated occasionally by the scratching of a highlighter against a textbook. It was midterm week, which meant you were fully in your element: oversized glasses slipping down your nose, and surrounded by a fortress of study guides.

You were so dialed into your macroeconomics notes that you didn't even hear the front door click open, or the heavy, familiar footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Suddenly, a massive, tattooed hand descended over your notebook, flatly blocking your view of the page.

"Alright, brat. Eyes off the paper," Sukuna’s deep, gravelly voice echoed right above your ear. He leaned over the back of your desk chair, his chest pressing against your back. He smelled like winter air and the expensive cologne he wore to his business lectures.

"Sukuna, please, I have three more pages to outline," you groaned, trying to peek around his hand.

Before Sukuna could reply, a second shadow loomed over your desk. Toji dropped his gym bag onto the floor with a heavy thud, yawning as he stretched his massive frame. He was still in his gray university athletics hoodie, looking effortlessly rugged. He walked over, casting a glance at your frantic setup.

"Still at it, doll?" Toji murmured, a lazy, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You've been in that exact spot since I left for practice four hours ago."

"I'm fine, really—"

"You're done," Sukuna interrupted flatly. He didn't ask for permission; he simply hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you clean out of the desk chair.

"Hey! Put me down!" you gasped, your face flushing as your legs dangled in the air.

Sukuna didn't budge, carrying you over to the living room couch like you weighed absolutely nothing. He dropped you onto the cushions, and before you could sit up, he leaned down, trapping you beneath him. His four eyes, a chaotic byproduct of his actual appearance that he usually hid with contacts at school, but proudly wore at home gleamed with amusement.

"You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you, princess?" Sukuna murmured, his fingers gently gripping your chin to tilt your face up. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tasted faintly of the black coffee he’d had earlier. It was deep and commanding, demanding your full attention until your mind went completely blank, the economics formulas evaporating from your brain.

When he pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your lips, and your breath was hitched.

"Better," Sukuna smirked, his thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"My turn," Toji rumbled. He walked over and unceremoniously wedged his massive body onto the couch next to you, pulling your lower half right into his lap. He reached up, gently plucking the glasses off your face and setting them on the coffee table. "You're squinting, beautiful. Your eyes need a break."

Toji nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly against your sensitive skin. You let out a soft sigh, your hands automatically finding their way into his dark, messy hair. He kissed up your jawline, slow and deliberate, before capturing your lips in a lazy, warm kiss that felt like pure comfort. Toji’s kisses were always like him, seemingly effortless but completely intoxicating.

You melted completely between them, your previous academic anxiety dissolving into the couch cushions.

"See? Was that so hard?" Toji murmured against your lips, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest as his large hands slid under the hem of your oversized sweater, resting warmly against the bare skin of your waist. His touch sent a sudden spike of heat straight down your spine.

"You both are terrible influences," you breathed out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I'm going to fail."

Sukuna let out a sharp, mocking laugh, shifting so he was lying flush against your other side, his arm draping heavily over your waist, effectively pinning you between two massive, muscular walls of heat.

Sukuna let his fingers trace light, teasing circles on your hip, dangerously close to where Toji’s hands were resting. "But you won't. You're too smart for your own good, nerd."

"He's right," Toji agreed, his thumb stroking your hip bone underneath your sweater, his eyes darkening slightly as he looked down at your flushed face and swollen lips. "But right now, you're off the clock. Understand, sweetheart?"

Caught between Sukuna’s intense, burning gaze and Toji’s heavy, seductive warmth, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue. You let your head sink back into the pillow, your hands resting on Toji’s broad chest while Sukuna’s fingers tangled tangled with yours.

"Fine," you whispered, a small smile finally breaking through. "Just for tonight."

"Good girl," Sukuna murmured, leaning down to claim your lips once more, while Toji’s hands shifted lower, pulling you even closer into the heat of their embrace.