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guys i love nanami so much this just hurts, im not ok

his hands are resting on your hips, heavy and sure, but trembling just slightly—just enough that you might think it’s the aftershocks of your rhythm. but you’ve been riding him slow for minutes now, your knees on either side of his hips, thighs aching, spine curving into the soft arch that makes his breath catch each time you grind down. it’s not a frantic fuck. it’s not desperate.

it’s the kind of movement that says i want you to feel this—each inch, each wet, sweet clench, each time your body opens around him like it knows his name.

nanami’s head is tilted back against the pillow, throat flushed, golden skin glowing in the amber haze of the bedside lamp. he hasn’t opened his eyes in a while—like if he does, the spell might break. you’re bent over him slightly, hands planted on his chest, the soft drag of your pelvis against his keeping the pace low and warm and intimate.

his breath comes in quiet gasps. not harsh, not needy. just overwhelmed. like this—this exact rhythm, your skin on his, your fingers tracing down his neck—is too much. not from lust. from love.

you notice the shift when his hands move—not to guide your hips, not to speed you up, but to pull you down, gently, into his chest. one palm flattens between your shoulder blades. the other presses at the small of your back, urging you to lean into him. you do. your bare chest presses against his, your heartbeat loud in your own ears.

his mouth finds the crook of your neck like he’s seeking shelter there. not to kiss. not to bite. he just breathes you in—deep, like you’re the only thing tethering him to this moment.

and then you feel it.

not from his breath. not from his body.

from the slow, sudden warmth that seeps into your skin.

your movement falters, just slightly. you don’t ask. not yet. your hand slides up, cradling the back of his head, fingertips threading through sweat-damp hair.

“kento…?”

he doesn’t answer right away. doesn’t lift his head. he just stays there, arms wrapped around you, cock still seated deep inside you—so snug, so full, like you were made to hold him.

but the wetness spreads. soft. persistent. and your heart twists.

you shift just enough to pull back, hand slipping to his cheek, your thumb brushing gently under his eye.

his eyes are open now.

and they’re full. not just with tears, but with everything. pain. relief. awe. something ancient and breaking apart like waves finally reaching shore.

“you’re crying,” you whisper. not accusatory. just gentle. worried.

he blinks, and another tear falls. his voice, when it finally comes, is wrecked—quiet and cracked at the edges.

“i didn’t mean to,” he breathes. “i just… i don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

you brush your thumb over his cheek again. “nothing’s wrong.”

he exhales, jaw tightening like he’s fighting a thousand things he can’t name.

“you love me like i’m not broken,” he says softly, like he’s ashamed of the truth. “like i’m not exhausted. like i didn’t give up on myself years ago.”

you don’t speak. you just kiss him. soft. slow. with your body still wrapped around his, like you can pour all your love into him that way. like if you kiss him deep enough, he’ll finally believe you.

and he melts.

right there beneath you.

arms curling tighter around your waist, lips parting against yours, tears slipping freely down his temples now as you begin to move again—slow, slow, like the pace you started with.

like you’re telling him i’m here. i’m not letting go.

he sobs once. just once. not loud. not harsh. a small, broken thing that escapes against your shoulder, and then—

“i love you,” he chokes out. “god, i love you. i didn’t think i was allowed to have this.”

you pause, breath catching. your hips grind down, slow, deep, pressing your foreheads together.

“you are,” you whisper. “you are.”

his hands hold your face now, trembling slightly as he kisses you again, tears wetting both your cheeks. and still—you’re joined. still, you move together. no thrusting. no hurry. just the soft slide of your bodies in sync, like he’s being reborn between your thighs.

his voice cracks again.

“you’re my everything,” he whispers. “you’re the only thing that makes me feel like a man. not a weapon. not a machine. just… someone worthy.”

you cry too, then.

not loud. not messy. just tears against his skin, mouths pressed together, arms wrapped tight like if you hold each other hard enough, the world might stop spinning.

and in that room—low lit, hot skin on hot skin, your name tangled in his lips and his love spilling raw from his chest—you both stop pretending.

he’s yours.

you’re his.

and the tears? they’re just proof he finally believes it.

Bringing him back little things that remind you of him whenever he stays back at camp just so he knows you're still thinking of him while you're apart.

Astarion being so used to receiving little gifts from your travels that when you arrive back at camp, he's standing by your tent with his palm outstretched just waiting to see what you've brought him this time. The giddy little grin that's plastered on his face when you fork over the shiniest object you could get your paws on. All varying in degrees of monetary value, for sure, but all with a unique story of their own.

A couple of old coins from an ancient crypt. The entrance of which you'd all stumbled upon when Karlach punched a wall of a cave in victory after a particularly tough battle, only to come back with a handful of bones and cobwebs. The look of shock on her face when the entire wall came crumbling down on the group was enough to have you in stitches, entirely too weak from laughter to stand. You laid beneath the rubble for so long that Gale had assumed you developed a concussion and needed rescuing.

The PRETTIEST, crystal goblet that you'd stolen right from under a rich lady's nose under the guise that you were testing her drink for poison. You'd downed her ale in two gulps the second you exited the building. Was in the middle of patting yourself on the back for being oh-so cunning when you nearly fell on your ass. It was a sick, twisted coincidence that her ale did, in fact, turn out to be poisoned. But, at least you had a spare antidote on you that you gulped down before Shadowheart could find you in such a state. (And make fun of you, no doubt.)

A set of handmade jewelry– not stolen this time, if you can believe it. Wyll had pointed out the small shop to you while the two of you were out shopping for supplies. Said something about how it might be a good idea to pick out a new pair of socks since you'd been complaining about how holey yours had become after so much running around. Which was a good idea, truly– but the second you'd set eyes on the shop window, you knew what you wanted. A matching necklace and earring set, lovingly crafted with silver chain, so very delicate. So very understated that one could almost miss it among the rest of the more garish examples that sat alongside. Three, very small, opalescent stones shone so pretty at you beneath the sunlight that you could hardly look away. You would have given the shopkeep your left kidney just to see Astarion wearing them, but thankfully, it wasn't necessary. (You became so feral in your excitement to hear the very reasonable price that you nearly threw your entire gold pouch at the clerk's head and then kissed him on the mouth.)

You're an eager one. Astarion never has to wait– always receives his gifts before you can so much as slip your travel pack off of your shoulders. He goes real quiet for a moment. Has this far away look while gazing down at whatever it is, turning it over in his palm a couple of times to really study it.

The two of you sit together while you go through the rest of the day's spoils, and he listens while you tell him all about how you found today's special little trinket. Insists you spare no details in how you acquired it. (Unless any of those details are boring, dear. Do spare him of those.)

You know that there have to be some things he enjoys more than others. You know that there has to be some things you've given him that he outright dislikes. There have been a few occasions where he'd poked fun at you for bringing back something silly. Like "The roundest pebble you'd ever seen, Astarion, look at it roll!" or "This drawing of the two of you that you'd doodled on a stray sheet of parchment when you couldn't find anything else no matter how hard you tried!". BUT he has never refused anything you've chosen to bring back for him.

He thinks it's rather sweet that you've dedicated yourself to proving you still think of him when he stays behind. Wonders why you are the way that you are. Sort of loves you to death for it. Definitely does NOT invest in a bag of holding for everything once it all begins to stack up.

Definitely doesn't insist on you taking one half of the jewelry set so you always have a little piece of one another on you at all times. That would be ridiculous. (Earrings or necklace, darling?)

“Levi, whatcha making?”

“Mm.”

-

It was a question you asked him everyday. Everyday when you caught him back in the couch with his crochet tools, his hands moving as he looped the hook one after another. And it was a question he ignored everyday.

But you watched eagerly. Even without two fingers, how he managed to keep working so effortlessly and flawlessly was mind-blowing to you, because the last time you attempted it, you ended up with only a huge mess of yarn. Yet, he did it as easily as if he’d been doing it for years.

After the war ended, the two of you found yourself with these huge stretched periods of free time that none of you know what to do with. It was specially harder for him, living his whole life constantly working, never taking a second to relax. Work is all he ever knew. Now that it was all over, he was overwhelmed how absurdly long days are. Not that he actually minded, he absolutely loved having more hours to spend with you. But it was the feeling of uselessness that took over him. With his physical state, there wasn’t a lot of physical activities he could do to keep himself busy either.

That’s when you started experimenting. You started trying out things with him, cooking, reading, sewing (He was good at all of them) but surprisingly it was crochet that stuck with him. (Despite his initial protests that it was for old people and how it doesn’t suit him.) So, since then, you often found him sitting on the couch, fiddling with his yarn and hooks and whatsonot. He’s even made a lot of little household things and so, though he gets embarrassed whenever he sees you actually using them. You adored them though, they were beautiful.

It was only recently he started working on a certain something. Something he refused to tell you or even let you see it. And curiosity ate you up from inside, (Because what could it possibly be that he has to hide from you?), but you always gave up after trying for a few minutes, because first of all, the man was absolutely stubborn and pestering Levi usually never ended well.

But you asked the question everyday.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what you’re making?”

“Maybe. If you stop bugging me.”

“Is it for me?’’ You asked, grinning. “Is that why you’re shy?”

He never answered, only shifted his work a little more out of your sight.

You still watched him though. How could you not? It was such an elegant sight, the way he has his eyes all narrowed in concentration, fingers working carefully. Sometimes, he does this thing where he bites down on his lip, and you don’t think he even realizes that, but holy shit, did it get you feeling all gooey.

But then again,everything Levi Ackerman does has you feeling that way.

-

“What’s taking you so long?” You called out, rubbing your hands together. It was the end of December, it only started snowing since last weekend. To say the weather was freezing would be an understatement, Levi practically had to drag you out of the covers every morning. And even now, all bundled up in jackets and sweaters and gloves and socks, you could still feel the cold poking your skin. You puffed out little foggy breaths, watching them as they faded away.

“You’re trembling, idiot.”

Hand clasped on your shoulder, turning you around. Before you even got to blink, Levi was wrapping something warm around your neck clumsily.

"It's cold outside." He muttered under his breath as an explanation.

You let out a sigh of relief almost immediately, soaking in the bundle of heat. It was so soft, fluffy, warm and…

A scarf?

Your hands reached out to feel it, and it was as you thought.

You looked up and Levi was already turning away, grabbing your hand and tugging you forward.

“Wait!” You stopped him, pulling back your hands.

“What? Weren’t you the one eager to go for a walk?” He turned around, looking at you, confused.

“But..” You trailed off, looking down at the white wool, fingers still feeling the softness. “Did you..did you make this Levi?”

Levi was silent for a few seconds, then gave the slightest nod, his eyes on the ground.

Your jaw dropped.

“No way.”

“...do you not like it?” He glanced up, voice timid. Almost as if he’s scared you’ll say no.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you kidding?” You blinked, you were feeling so many things, you couldn’t even begin to sort them out. “Levi..that’s what you’ve been doing? This is for me?”

“You’re the one wearing it, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, choking on your emotions. Levi showing affection such way was so rare, but when he really did, they were always things you never even thought of. When he did something, he always gave his most.

You brought up one hand to wipe the little tears that formed on your eyes. “Oh wow, I’m crying.” You let out a little laugh. “I might start bawling,.”

“What the–” He frowned, reaching out to you but hand pausing midair, unsure what to do. “I’m…sorry?”

“Oh, Levi, it’s not that.” You let out a half snort. This absolute clueless idiot.

“Well, you’re acting weird. Did you like it or not?”

“I..” You inhaled. “Levi, you fool. I love it.”

And Levi exhaled, his shoulders finally relaxing. “That’s..” He mumbled, glancing at you. “That’s good then.”

And you stared at him for a few seconds, relief washed over his features. His cold gray eyes holding a warmth that was only ever reserved for you. The tips of his ear and nose were red, as it always was when he was flustered or embarrassed. There were flakes of snow on his hair, the night breeze blowing his bangs away from his face, ruining what was always so carefully combed.

He looked like an angel. Something ethereal sent from the heavens above.

It was so surreal, you had to pinch yourself.

“Ow.” You mumbled.

He was quick to grab your hand. “Now, what the hell was that for?” He demanded.

“Huh?” You looked up, still in a daze. “Just..” And your face broke into a stupid, stupid smile. You suddenly felt so unbelievably gleeful. “Just really happy.”

He wasn’t sure what one had to do with the other, but he stared at you. Unpredictable, always so. But it was so easy to make you happy. It makes him feel sometimes as though he doesn't deserve this.

Even after so many years of being with you, your smile had never failed to tug his heart. And suddenly, he felt like that young teenager he was when he first met you, when he couldn’t even greet you casually without stuttering over his words. Just as flustered, just as stupid, just as shy.

Next thing you know, he was pulling you by the very scarf, leaning down to press his lips against yours, trying to tell you all the things he never really had the courage to say out loud. That he was so grateful. And he wants to say thank you, thank you for staying alive, for not leaving, for giving him a chance, for always sticking with him, for giving him a taste of what living feels like.

And he's telling you I love you over and over, he hopes this is enough. Enough for you to convey how his heart feels because his tongue geys tied up everytime he tries. He wishes he could burn the words against your lips. Because he's always so scared that you might never really understand how grateful he is and how important you are.

"I love you."

You pulled away to breathe, stumbling out the words, exhaling out a cloud of fog. You looked up, wide eyes reassuring him you know. Reassuring him that It's okay if he never really says it, but you know.

“I love this and I love you.”

Levi gulped and nodded, hoping to let you know that he felt the same. Except he was a coward and you were not.

It was enough for you though. You shot a bright grin, cheeks all red. Giddily, you grabbed his hand, pulling him along.

“Easy.” He said. “You’ll slip.”

You hummed, waving away his words. “I’m never taking it off by the way.”

“Yeah sure.”

“I’m serious. And I’m going to show it off to everyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

And then you blabbered some more nonsense things that he couldn’t really focus on as he was more busy watching you and the way your eyes shone.

“I love you,” He whispers quietly to himself.

the first thing you noticed about nanami kento was his hair.

kento nanami x gn!reader | wc: 3.3k+

contents: spoilers about nanami’s past, angsty but happy ending shibuya didn’t happen, he is a little ooc :c , listen to hey blondie by dominic fike to understand the vibe better

hey blondie, there's a million eyes on you, do you ever get curious?

The first time you see Nanami Kento, he’s training with the strongest of the strong, sparring at your college. His technique his interesting, his moves are flawless, but the first thing you notice is his hair. It’s long and it covers his eyes while he attacks and pivots forward, and you find yourself wondering what shampoo he uses. It’s a dusty blonde that reminds you of old books and pale wood— it’s pretty on him. While everyone else looks at the fight, trying to study their approaches, their strengths, their weaknesses, all you can focus is his hair shines like gold in the sun.

It’s pretty on him.

hey, blondie, there's a million minds on you— do you ever get furious?

You watch their spars every week, trying to figure out what it is about Nanami’s hair that makes you like about him. Ever since he first caught your attention, you see him everywhere in your life now— in your classes, in the hallways, in your favorite coffee shop, right in front of you. There’s no people in front of him, chanting at him, cheering him on, booing at him, it’s just him.

His eyes meet yours, and your eyes meet his. Your body freezes. He mutters out a “sorry”, and he moves out of your way.

You realize that it’s not just his hair that you like.

hey blondie, if i ever took mine off you, would you even get curious?

“I didn’t see you at the spar yesterday.”

Hearing Nanami’s voice automatically makes you freeze, and you grip your backpack. You got paired up with him for your presentation, and you’re surprised he’s interrupted the silence of your research. You didn’t even know he knew you went to them.

“I was sick.” You answer as casually as you can, tapping your fingers on random keys on your keyboard before deleting them, trying your best to not let him see how nervous you actually are.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I think so.”

He nods.

“You should come next time,” a part of you wonders if he’s answering as casually as he can, “I’ll save you a seat at the front.”

hey blondie? oh, hey blondie.

The two of you walk out from the classroom together, and you breathe a sigh of relief. The presentation went perfectly.

“Let me walk you home,” Nanami tells you once the two of you reach the front of the school, “It’s getting dark.”

“Are you making a move on me?” You tease him, jabbing his shoulder as you blush.

He smiles.

“You wish.”

hey blondie, could you maybe just slide towards me? (i don't want anything serious.)

You two walk out from class— it’s your ritual at this point, to walk eachother home from the last class of the day.

Nanami’s hand moves closer to yours, and his fingers meet yours. His hand is bigger than yours, and you realize just how comforting his presence is next to you.You get closer to him, bumping your shoulder against his.

Silently, the two of you walk hand-in-hand, your hearts racing.

hey blondie, could you maybe just cry for me if we ever get serious?

You stop seeing Nanami Kento when Yu Haibara passes away. He doesn’t come to class, he doesn’t come to his spars, he doesn’t answer your texts, and he doesnt hold your hand.

“Kento, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” You stand outside the door to his dorm room, your hand placed on his wooden door. You don’t know what hurts more: the fact that you know he’s right at his door, based on how the shadows of the sunlight move towards you under the doorway, or the fact that he refuses to respond.

“I’m here for you, whenever you need me.” You try again, and you hear him slump against the door.

You wonder if he can feel you on the other side when you do the same.

i know sticks and stones and big glass homes don't hurt you 'cause you're so perfect.

He returns to school not two weeks later, placing his bag next to you. He’s cut his hair, it’s shorter, and it’s gelled back now. He looks more mature, more like what you’d assume a Nanami Kento would look like— you like it. You like him.

He asks you not to ask any questions because he wants to focus on the present and the future, and because you like him, you oblige, despite how prominent the red under his eyes look.

i know you get so lonely, but you're not lonely, well, watch it, 'cause you're still working.

Nanami’s friend group has broken— drastically so. Haibara is gone and Geto is too, leaving the rest struggling to pick up what they left behind. People talk to Nanami, asking how he’s doing, giving him compliments, inviting him to parties, and he has that polite smile on his face, pretending that he’s fine.

You know he’s not.

do you ever get weak like monday morning, baby girl?

You’ve grown to like Monday mornings, and you blame it all on him. You spend the weekends flitting over your phone because you can’t see him, and then he arrives like a steady star every single Monday. You do your best to be there for him but he brushes you off, telling you that he's doing okay.

You wonder how he feels about Mondays. (You wonder how he feels about you.)

do you want it to end like sunday? (sorry, darling.)

Nanami is healing— at least you think he is. He and Gojo Satoru still have those sparring matches, although they’re less frequent than before. They’re more intense though, you can feel the power behind every hit and the intensity behind their eyes.

You make it to every match and you stay through all of them; it’s not hard, they’re shorter now that the gap between Gojo and everyone else is now so much larger. You always hug him afterwards as a congratulations, and he always hugs you back. This Sunday, though, he hugs you a little tighter and a little bit longer.

do you ever get tired like ropes and wires, baby girl?

The first time Nanami kisses you, you’re both exhausted. You lie in his bed, lazily tracing circles around his upper chest, making your way up to his neck.

“Stop.” He groans, swatting your hands away, and you giggle as your hands splay on his face now, tracing the curves of his cheekbones as his arm brings you closer. He watches as you draw an imaginary dick on his face, his eyes softening as you laugh, and something just hits him.

He leans up, and his lips brush yours. You freeze, your breath stopping as his hand reaches you up, pulling you down on top of him. His mattress is soft, sinking around your arms as he pulls the cover on top of your bodies, and you softly cup his face, happily kissing him back.

He smiles against your lips and you mumble incoherent complaints into his ear. You lie against him for the rest of the night.

there's a million eyes on you.

“I don't think I want to be a sorcerer.”

You turn to him, the grass tickling your nose, and you turn back to look at the sky. You'd be lying if you didn't see it coming, but your heart still pangs anyways; the match with Gojo must've got him thinking. “What are you thinking about doing after we graduate, then?” You ask.

He shrugs. “I was thinking about going into stocks.”

“Sounds like you.” You snort. You hesitate, and you let the breeze waft through your hair. “…This won’t change us, will it?”

He remains quiet, until in your peripheral, you see his hand move towards yours, grasping it tightly.

“No.” He says the words with a certain type of conviction. You swallow, and you squeeze his hand back.

there's a million eyes on you.

“Red isn’t easy to pull off, but you make it work!” Gojo congratulates you, smacking a hand on your back, making you almost drop your diploma. You grin, hugging him back— you don’t know Gojo Satoru as well as Nanami does, but you’re happy that you’ve gotten the opportunity to know him. Your first mission coming out of college is with him, afterall.

Nanami reaches the two of you, and you’re happy to say that you pull off the red robes better than he does.

“You excited to go straight to work?” You tease, your fingers fiddling with the cords dangling off of his neck. He rolls his eyes as you steal his graduation cap from off of his head, clutching it close to your chest, and Gojo fakes a gag.

“I hate love.” The white-haired man grumbles, “Wake up and break up, bitches.”

Love. You love Nanami Kento.

You grin, leaning up to kiss Nanami on the cheek, and Gojo sticks a finger down his throat.

hey blondie, i took a million tries for you, and i wanna take a million more.

“You only watched the spars because you thought I was pretty?” Nanami asks, and you poke his cheek.

“Maybe.” You lean on his shoulder, smiling, “I still think you're cute as hell. Especially in this suit.”

You straighten his leopard-print tie, pressing a kiss on his padded shoulder before you snuggle closer onto him. A vague feeling of pride courses through your body as the two of you sit on the park bench in a comfortable silence.

He leans in your head, closing his eyes. “For what it's worth, I think you're pretty too.”

hey blondie, if you ever get tired of me, just remember what i'm really here for.

The mission was a month long, you're exhausted and beaten up— the first thing you need is Nanami, but the last thing you need is his nagging.

“You need to stop getting in trouble like this,” You wince as he applies the antiseptic to the gash on your stomach, “Be more careful, (Y/n).”

“Well you need to stop fucking micromanaging me.” You spit out.

He pauses.

“That wasn't my intention.” He sets down the ointment, before he hesitantly reaches down for the bandages, “I apologize for not wanting to see you dead on my doorstep.”

You bite your lip, and your eyes flicker to the ground. “’M sorry,” you mumble. You forget that Nanami isn't a sorcerer anymore, that any updates he usually does recieve are funeral letters: offers for mourning from friends, colleagues, and acquaintances he's met in highschool and college, “I didn't mean it like that.”

He wraps your stomach skillfully, using the same skills he learned during your time in college. “It's okay,” he says quietly, “I'm just glad you're back.”

“Me too.” You murmur, swallowing, “I'm sorry again.”

He remains silent for the rest of the night.

those twists and turns that feel like cursive, but you don't crumble.

What you failed to realize the last time you argued with Nanami was that the day you came home was within two days of Yu Haibara's death anniversary, but you’ve realized it now, so when he leaves your room in the middle of the night, you're not surprised that you find him in front of Haibara’s grave.

“He'd be proud of you, y’know.” You kneel behind him, and he smiles bitterly.

“I don't think so.” He remains sat on the grass, his eyes remaining on Haibara’s gravestone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The last time you asked him about Haibara’s death was the year he died. His hand unclenches though, and unlike the year Haibara died, Nanami talks.

“Usually, I feel normal. When I’m with you, and Shoko, and Gojo, even around my colleagues, I feel normal.” His words are hesitant and unsure, and he swallows thickly, “Whenever I think about him, though, I feel… hollow.”

Your hand touches his, and your fingers interlock. “When… he died,” it feels like Nanami can’t even bear to say his name, “A part of me died too. And every time I try to look back on what it was like to live before he passed away, everything gets…blurry. Ever since it happened, barely anything has felt clear.”

“Barely anything?”

“There are exceptions.” He admits softly, “You’re one of them.”

You take in his words, squeezing his hand tighter. “He’d be proud.” You say quietly, “Because you’re you. It’d be hard not to be proud of you.”

Yu Haibara didn’t deserve the death that fell upon him, and Nanami didn’t deserve the grieving afterwards. It’s been three years since he’s passed, and your boyfriend still grieves. You wonder how impactful of a person Yu Haibara was as you stare at the headstone, and how impactful he could’ve been if he was still alive.

Nanami trembles next to you. You don’t have the courage to look at him, not with the way his quiet sobs grow louder, so you settle for a hug.

you might miss one step, and you still don't stumble.

“I think I want to be a sorcerer again.”

It’s a scene reminiscent of your days in college: the two of you lying on the grass of your childhood park, the sun beginning to rise.

“Really?” You turn to him in surprise, “What sparked the change?”

“I hate both of them and the world is meaningless.” He says simply, and you laugh. You push his shoulder and he smiles, “But I like being a sorcerer more. If they’re both shit I might as well do the one I like.”

“Sounds like you.” You stay there before rolling over to mischeviously peck him on the lips. It seems like Nanami has other plans though, and he ensnares you into his arms, leaving you nowhere to lie other than on top of his chest. You let out a squawk and he laughs, leaning up to kiss you. You look down at him, his eyelashes fluttering, his subtle eye bags his damp hair, the crooked smile on his lips, and the curves of cheekbones.

He was right: being a stockbroker didn’t change the two of you. If you were the sky that enveloped the world, Nanami was the Earth itself, the rock that grounded you, the trees that provided you the air to breathe.

Your hand squeezes his, and you lie there until the sun is high in the sky.

and i just wonder: do you ever get weak like monday morning, baby girl?

“What if I called you ‘babygirl?'” You ask him, and you chokes on his coffee.

“Sorry?”

“Gojo picked up some new kids today, I wanna fit in ‘nd be hip with the kids. It's easier to get them to like me if I make fun of you.” You jokingly grumble, “Want them to like me, y’know?”

There's an unspoken understanding between the two of you.

I want them to trust me. I want them to have someone they can lean on.

Unlike us.

Nanami sighs. “Whatever you think will help them like you more.”

“Babygirl.”

“Nevermind.”

do you want it to end like sunday? (sorry, darling.)

“Itadori is killing me.”

“He is not killing you.”

“He is physically—”

“Stop being dramatic, Kento. I thought you liked him?”

“I do, I just don't know why he wants to be an adult so bad. It's awful.”

You roll your eyes, continuing to do your paperwork. “Being an adult isn't that bad. We can drink legally, worry about debt, gamble legally… we can get married.”

Nanami sighs. “I just wish he let himself enjoy his youth while he can. He has a rough road ahead of him and he doesn't realize it yet.”

“Maybe you should enjoy your adult years before you become a crusty old man who yells at kids for living too much.”

He laughs, and you roll your eyes again.

“…Maybe adulthood isn't too bad.” He looks to you typing on your computer and you blow him a kiss. He clutches his heart dramatically and falls on the couch.

do you ever get tired like ropes and wires, baby girl?

Nanami has always been terribly pretty, but when you’re as exhausted as you are and he looks as stuffy as he does, you get angry.

“Ugh. I fucking hate your suit.” You grab his jacket aggressively and he stumbles on top of you, chuckling as you do your best to rip his suit jacket off of him.

“I thought you liked it.” He groans jokingly as you try undo his tie, ultimately giving up and just tugging at it until it slips off his neck.

“I like it ‘cause I thought it made you look sexy but then I realized that was you, not the suit,” you remove his glasses and gently place them on the nightstand, allowing you to look at his brown monolids, “If it wasn’t you wearing it, I’d hate it. You have the worst sense of fashion.”

“But you love me anyways?” He lets out a huff as you flop on top of him, burying your head in his chest. His hands find your head, tangling between the strands of your hair.

“Only ‘cause you’re hot,” you mumble, “Don’t go to work today, I miss you. You’re so popular with everyone, I can’t believe you’re choosing that bastard Mahito over me.”

“I need to exorcise him before he turns into a problem.”

“You’re literally obsessed with him, choosing a curse over your lover is insanity! Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me or I’ll actually end it all.”

“I need to find—”

“A ring? Because you proposed to him? Is he your fiancé? Oh my god, I knew it.”

“(Y/n)—”

“And I wasn’t even invited—”

“Be quiet.” He breathes, hugging you tighter, “You’re the only person I’d ever want to marry.”

there's a million eyes on you.

Yu Haibara’s death anniversary is a touchy subject for many, but Kento learns to open up more and more about it every year.

He tells you that he reminds him a lot of you actually, that you both have the same smile.

He tells you about how he used to bring a loaf of bread fresh from the bakery every single day starting in the spring and how they would split it before running laps.

You ask him if he thinks Yu Haibara would like you.

He tells you that he thinks he would.

there's a million eyes on you.

There’s something about lazy make-outs with Nanami Kento that makes a good night a perfect one. Something about the way his tongue brushes against yours, how his teeth gnashes ever so slightly against your lips, how he groans as your hands paw and trail at his body.

“Let’s get married.” He whispers between kisses, and you pause.

“What?”

He sits up straighter, pushing his body up with his elbows and he kisses you. He kisses you with a certain urgency, passionate and sweet as his mouth lulls around yours.

“We should get married,” his chin settles on your shoulder, his arms enveloping your body, before he admits, “I’ve been thinking about proposing for a while.”

“Alright, let’s get married, Kento,” you grin, nuzzling your head againts his, softly kissing the side of his neck as he lets out another groan, “We can even buy a house together.”

“It’d need to be practical.” He murmurs between warm kisses on your skin, “On the smaller side.”

“As long as it’s with you.” You smile happily, and even though you can’t see his face, you can picture the smile on his face too. You play with his hair as he presses kisses from your cheek and down your neck to your collarbone, grinning as it glints a brilliant gold as the sun sets behind the half-closed blinds.

Nanami Kento really is beautiful.

a/n: smth bout writing soft hurt/comfort for jjk characters makes my heart feel so full

He's beautiful like this, you think– laying flat against the bed where the sheets are disheveled, the pillows pushed aside; his hair is damp, plastered in swatches against his forehead, and there's a sheen of sweat on his sun-kissed skin that you lean to drag your tongue through, savoring the taste of him with a soft, appreciative moan.

No one gets to see him this way. Blissed out, thoroughly fucked, buried inside you while his broad hands are settled on your hips. No one else sees the lust that settles in his gaze when he smiles at you, languid and lazy and full of such adoration it makes your stomach tighten and your head buzz. These moments are for you and Nanami alone, when the rest of the world keeps moving outside your door. Time doesn't exist here. The only thing that matters is that you're together, that he knows how much you love him, that you're able to share this with Nanami alone. You are his, and he is yours. All is well in your soul.