kentothirdleg

[kentothirdleg]

angst

it wasn’t that he didn’t care.

he did.

but toji fushiguro was a man built out of loss and silence, stitched together with guilt and survival. and the way he looked at you — it was like he wished he could be different. like the words sat on the edge of his tongue but always died there, swallowed by something heavier than pride.

you loved him.

even when he showed up with bruised knuckles and blood under his fingernails.

even when he forgot to call.

even when he couldn’t say i love you unless it was pulled from him in the dark, breathless and bitter.

you knew it was real.

but real didn’t mean right.

“you don’t let anyone in,” you whispered one night, arms around your knees, voice too quiet to be angry. “not really. not all the way.”

he didn’t look at you.

just lit another cigarette.

let the silence settle.

and that’s what hurt more than anything — not the fights, not the long stretches of nothing — but how easy it was for him to not fight for it at all.

“…i let you in,” he finally said, eyes on the floor.

you shook your head. “no. you let me close enough to feel you bleed. but not enough to stop it.”

that got him.

he didn’t speak.

just stood up. paced. jaw clenched.

you waited. hoping maybe — maybe — this time he’d choose something different. say the thing he never did.

instead?

he walked to the door.

“toji.”

he paused.

“is this all it’s ever gonna be?”

his back tensed. shoulders rose like he was gonna turn around, say something — anything.

but he didn’t.

he left.

and the worst part?

you didn’t stop him.

[kentothirdleg]

jjk men react to you asking them to kill a bug!

ft geto, todo, choso, n nanami౨ৎ

Geto Suguru

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

“You’re a special grade sorcerer,” you whisper from behind him, voice shaking. “You can handle curses... Can you please handle this bug before I pass out?”

Geto sets his book down slowly. “What kind of bug?”

“The kind that flies. The kind that looks like it has a passport and a grudge.”

He sighs, stands, and walks to the kitchen with the calm serenity of a monk. You follow at a very safe distance. The second he sees it—

“Oh. That’s disgusting.”

“RIGHT?”

He picks up a glass like he’s about to catch a butterfly and slowly, gently traps the bug. Slips a paper underneath and carries it toward the window with surgical grace.

“You’re releasing it?!” you gasp.

He smiles. “All life is precious.”

“It flew at me with violence, sugu..”

“I believe in rehabilitation.”

You fold your arms. “You wanna rehabilitate that bug, but had a whole cult last year?”

"Alright [꣑ৎ] that's enough.."

Aoi Todo

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

"Aoi.”

“Yes, my best friend and queen?”

“There’s a flying bug in the bathroom.”

He squared his jaw. “Say no more.”

He sprinted to the bathroom like a man possessed. You heard a battle cry. A slam. The unmistakable crunch of justice.

When he emerged, shirtless and slightly sweaty, he held the remains in a tissue like a fallen enemy.

“It has been done.”

You nodded. “You are dramatic and I love it.”

He placed a hand over his chest. “A real man protects the woman who appreciates Jennifer Lawrence and fears flying bugs.”

You stared. “I’ve never said I liked Jennifer Lawrence.”

He gasped. “Who are you?”

Choso

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

You screamed. He screamed.

You ran out of the room. He followed you, panicked, grabbing your arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?!”

“No! No—Choso, please, calm down. There’s a bug. Big. Flying. I need backup.”

He blinked. “...That’s it?”

“Yes! That’s all!”

He gave you a proud, protective nod and marched into the room with a broom like it was a sword. Five minutes of yelling, crashing, and one broken lamp later, he returned.

Breathing hard.

Broom bent.

Bug: obliterated.

You looked around the wreckage.

“Thank you baby” you said sincerely.

He smiled softly, bloody nose slightly crooked from hitting the wall mid-fight. “I’d do it again.”

Nanami Kento

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

You screamed and ran.

Nanami looked up from the kitchen, where he was slicing fruit like it was meditation. You burst in, wide-eyed and clutching the doorframe.

“Nanami. There is a FAT bug in our bedroom. Wings. No remorse. I need you to kill it NOW.”

He blinked once.

Then again.

Then set the knife down gently, exhaled through his nose like he just got assigned unpaid overtime, and muttered, “I work twelve-hour days, and this is how I spend my evening off.”

You followed him back down the hall at a distance, peeking from behind him like a child watching a horror movie through their fingers.

“There,” you pointed. “Right there. Look at it. It’s thick. It’s got muscle. I swear that's the thickest bug i've ever seen.”

Nanami pushed his glasses up and stared at the insect with a disgust usually reserved for curses or unpaid taxes.

“That is not a bug. That is a pestilence.”

You: “Right?!”

Without another word, he took off his house slipper with the quiet precision of a seasoned assassin. He measured the distance. He waited for it to stop moving.

And then— SMACK.

Nanami turned to you, completely unbothered, slipped his slipper back on, and said, “Handled. Is there anything else terrorizing the peace in this apartment, or may I go back to slicing mangoes?”

You blinked. “...You’re the sexiest man alive.”

He adjusted his tie even though he wasn’t wearing one.

“I’m aware.”

[kentothirdleg]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢

You woke up to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the late morning sun spilling through the windows, but the kind that came from Keigo’s wings cocooning you like a down-filled blanket.

He’d gotten home from a mission last night bloodied knuckles, dark circles under his eyes, and a weary smile that melted the second he stepped inside and saw you. You barely remembered helping him take off his gear before he practically collapsed on the bed, pulling you down with him.

Now, he was still asleep, face buried in the crook of your neck, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist. His feathers shifted with every breath, rustling softly protective, instinctive. You swore they curled a little tighter anytime you moved.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and he let out the softest groan, eyes fluttering open.

“Mm… you tryin’ to seduce me first thing in the mornin, baby?” he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep.

You laughed quietly. “noo. just… appreciating the fact you didn’t fly off before sunrise this time.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Keigo blinked slowly, gold eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “Figured I’d stay grounded today. Hero work can wait. You’re a better view anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile you gave him gave it away instantly.

He smirked and leaned up, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “I mean it.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You reached out to gently stroke one of his wings, letting your fingers trace the velvety red feathers. He shivered under your touch, and you giggled.

“You really like that, huh?”

“Only when it’s you,” he muttered, nuzzling back into your neck.

For a while, there was nothing but soft breathing and the quiet hum of the city in the background. His fingers started idly tracing circles on your hip, his wings fluttering slightly whenever you shifted. You felt safe. Held. Loved.

“Y’know,” he said suddenly, voice muffled against your skin, “sometimes I think I was born with wings just so I could wrap ‘em around you like this.”

You went still. Keigo was always charming, always teasing but when he said things like this, low and real, it always hit differently.

“You big softie,” you whispered, cupping his face.

He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “Only for you.”

[kentothirdleg]

You were laughing.

The kind of laugh that bubbles up from your chest—messy and free—while Gojo made faces at you from across the street vendor’s table, one hand sneakily stealing dango from your plate.

“Hey!” you smacked his wrist, but not hard enough to actually stop him.

He grinned like the brat he was. “You always let me win.”

“You just cheat.”

“Semantics,” he said, licking sugar from his fingers.

The city lights painted his face gold. His sunglasses were off. His eyes a calm, shining blue stayed on you like they had nowhere else in the world to be. Like you were the center of his universe.

And in that moment, you let yourself believe it. That he was here. That this wasn’t some stolen, impossible thing.

“You know,” he said, voice suddenly quieter, “we don’t have to go back.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in, fingertips brushing yours. “We could stay here. Just you and me. No curses. No war. No death. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

It would.

It would be everything.

But then—

Wake up.

You flinched.

“What?” you asked, looking around.

He didn’t react. Just smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

Wake up.

There it was again. Distant. Hollow.

You glanced over your shoulder, but the world around you had started to blur. The lights dimmed. The colors dulled. And Gojo… his hand pulled away from yours.

You turned to him.

“Satoru?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You were always going to have to wake up.”

“No,” you whispered, panic rising. “No, please—don’t—”

He gave you that soft, sad smile. The one you’d only seen once—after Suguru died.

“You don’t have to forget me,” he said. “Just don’t stop living.”

Wake up.

His voice was fading.

You grabbed his shirt. “Wait—wait, don’t go—please—”

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.

“I’ll see you in your dreams, okay?”

And then—

You woke up.

In a cold bed.

The silence was deafening.

You stared at the ceiling, chest hollow, limbs trembling. His voice still echoed in your mind like an ache.

He was gone.

Still gone.

And for a moment… you wished you’d never woken up.

[kentothirdleg]

The bed still dips on his side.

That’s the first thing you notice when you roll over at 2:14 AM, sweat clinging to the back of your neck. Your hand reaches instinctively, fingers grazing nothing but cool sheets still chasing him like he might be there.

You should’ve washed them by now. But his scent lingers faint sandalwood and temple incense like he’s haunting the cotton.

He’s not here.

He hasn’t been.

Not since he walked out of your apartment two months ago with tear-rimmed eyes and trembling hands. Said he had to leave before he lost himself completely. Before he lost you in the wreckage he was spiraling toward.

But God you still want him.

Not just his love. His presence.

The way he’d come home late and rest his forehead against your back, whispering, “You’re the only peace I’ve ever known.”

You close your eyes.

And the dream finds you again.

In it, he’s lying beside you black hair loose, soft with sleep, face inches from yours. Your legs tangled together like they used to be. His fingers brushing along your jaw, his thumb grazing the fullness of your bottom lip.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I never stopped wanting you.”

You wake up gasping.

You throw off the covers and sit up, elbows on knees, palms to your face.

How the hell does love still feel this real when it’s gone?

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. No new messages.

You open the thread anyway.

Suguru 🖤

The last text you sent still hangs there, unread:

If you ever want to come home, I’ll leave the light on..

You should delete it.

You won’t.

By 3:06 AM, you’ve slipped into the hoodie he left behind. Black, oversized, smells like him.

You stare out the window, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to mimic the way he used to hold you. The city hums outside, distant and uncaring.

But all you can think about is him.

His mouth on your shoulder.

His voice in your ear, low and reverent when he whispered your name like a prayer.

The way his hands knew your body like he’d carved it into memory.

You’d give anything—everything—to feel that one more time.

Just One More Night.

You wouldn’t ask him to stay.

You wouldn’t try to fix it.

You’d let him go again in the morning, no questions, no tears.

You just want to remember what it feels like to be chosen by him. To be worshipped by those tired eyes. To be someone’s reason for breathing.

“Loving him was the one thing that never asked for permission, and the only thing that never stayed.”

[kentothirdleg]

Here is the fluff i made for you guys<3

He always came home tired.

But he always came home.

You could tell how hard his day had been just by how he kicked off his shoes if they were flung to the side, it meant he was pissed. If he neatly lined them up, he was still holding it all in. But today, when you heard the door open and his steps shuffle softly into the apartment, you looked up from the couch and knew.

Shoes off. Tie loose. Face soft.

“Hey,” you smiled, your bonnet tilted to the side like it had been fighting gravity all day. “Long day?”

Nanami exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since morning. “Always. But better now.”

You stood, padding over in your fuzzy socks and oversized shirt — his shirt and wrapped your arms around him. He melted into it, burying his face in your neck, arms encasing you like you were the only peace he’d ever known.

“Missed you,” you mumbled against his collarbone.

“You saw me this morning.”

“I know. Still missed you.”

He chuckled that quiet, low rumble that was more breath than sound and kissed your forehead. “You’re a little clingy today.”

“Blame you,” you replied, tugging him toward the couch. “You made me fall for a man who works too hard and smells too good.”

You both collapsed onto the cushions, his hand finding its home on your thigh while you straddled his lap, your arms draped over his shoulders.

“You hungry?” you asked, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“No. Just want this. You.”

You kissed him.

It was slow like he was tasting the one thing in life that didn’t rush him. Like he had all the time in the world.

The next morning, he lingered longer than usual.

Held you tighter. Kissed you harder.

“Don’t forget your lunch,” you reminded, handing him the neatly packed container.

“I won’t,” he said, tucking it into his bag. Then, softer, “Thank you. For always taking care of me.”

You blinked. “You say it like you won’t be back.”

He hesitated.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Always.”

You didn’t hear from him after that.

And you knew something was wrong.

When Gojo died, your stomach dropped. When they said Nanami was headed to Shibuya, it turned.

You paced. Prayed. Waited by your phone like your life depended on it.

And then—

You got the call.

“Nanami… he didn’t make it.”

The world blurred.

Your knees buckled.

You never asked for details, but you found them anyway. Rumors from other sorcerers, broken descriptions of how he died still helping others. Still standing tall even as he burned.

Still fighting — until the very end.

The last thing he saw was Yuji’s face.

The last thing you said to him was “I love you.”

The last thing he left you was a half-eaten lunchbox in a bloodstained bag, returned to you by trembling hands.

You slept in his shirts now. Talked to him when no one was around. Hugged his pillow at night like it might bring him back.

And every day, you packed your own lunch still using his favorite container because some small part of you refused to believe the promise was broken.

That he wasn’t coming back.

That he didn’t want to.

Because Nanami Kento always came home.

But this time, he didn’t.

A week later, you found the brochure in his drawer the one for the beach in Malaysia he always talked about visiting. He said it looked quiet. Peaceful. “The kind of place you don’t need to talk to be understood,” he once said, thumbing the image of the blue water.

Now, your voice broke as you traced that same image. You could almost hear him — soft and calm asking you to join him in the sand, to watch the sun go down and say nothing at all.

Maybe one day, you’d go.

Maybe you’d sit by the shore and wait.

Not for a miracle — but to feel close to the only place he ever dreamed of running toward.

Because that was Nanami.

Always chasing peace.

Even if he had to leave you behind to find it.

[kentothirdleg]

You sat on Geto’s lap, the city lights casting gold stripes across his cheeks through the blinds.

“Say it again,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across the soft of your jaw.

You smiled, knotless braids falling like a curtain between you and the world. “I love you.”

His smile deepened, but it didn’t stretch wide it was soft. Real. “That never gets old.”

Your legs tangled more tightly around his waist as he kissed you. Slow. Sweet. One hand firm on the back of your neck, the other splayed over the curve of your thigh. It wasn’t about sex not tonight. Just closeness. Just needing to be near.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asked against your lips, voice low.

“I know.”

“No really. Anything. You’re my peace.”

You looked at him, eyes shining. “And you’re mine.”

The two of you stayed there a long time. Exchanging soft kisses. Laughing about nothing. He pulled you close under his oversized hoodie and hummed in your ear, the kind of hum that made you feel like you were safe in this world. Like maybe even he believed in something better.

“I want this forever,” you whispered.

“I’ll give it to you,” he said, tucking his face into your neck.

The air was warm. The lights dim. His arms unrelenting. The world felt paused.

And then your phone buzzed.

You reached for it lazily, only glancing down out of habit — ready to ignore it. But the preview made your breath catch.

Group Chat: Jujutsu Staff

we lost him. they found him at the temple.

suguru’s gone.

we’re so sorry.

You blinked. No. No, it couldn’t—

Your body locked up. Breath hitched. You looked down again.

He was still holding you.

Still warm.

Still smiling.

But the room didn’t feel warm anymore. The light didn’t feel golden.

And when you looked up…

You were alone.