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you always wondered what it’d be like to see nanami completely drunk. not tipsy. not that polite one-glass blush he gets after a long dinner. not the loose-tie loosened-smile version of him.

you wanted to see him drunk.

so one slow, rainy saturday, curled up in your apartment with nothing to do and a few bottles of sake on the kitchen counter, you propose it. “let’s get drunk.”

nanami raises an eyebrow. “why?”

“because i want to see you wasted,” you grin, crawling into his lap like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “i wanna know if you cry. or sing. or if you finally admit you like those trashy dating shows i watch.”

he groans, but you feel the low rumble of it in his chest, the amusement under his breath. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re avoiding the question.”

he sighs like you’re the biggest burden in the world—but an hour later he’s sitting on the floor with you, sleeves rolled up, cheeks already pink from the second round of drinks, and muttering something about how he’s too old for this.

“i can still work tomorrow,” he slurs his words a little. “can still do long division. give me a pen. i’ll prove it.”

you laugh so hard you snort. “no one’s asking you to do math, kenny.”

“good,” he mutters, blinking slowly. “fuck math.”

two more drinks in and he’s properly drunk. soft, golden skin flushed all the way down his neck, glasses abandoned on the floor, and his head lolling onto your shoulder like it’s the only place in the world it belongs.

he’s clingier when he’s drunk—in a sweet, sleepy, murmuring-into-your-neck way. every few minutes he whispers something completely incoherent and kisses your jaw.

“you smell nice,” he mumbles. “smell like home.”

your heart does a little twist.

he nuzzles into your collarbone like a cat and sighs again. “you’re gonna marry me one day, right?”

you freeze.

you’re not sure he even realizes what he said. he just keeps rubbing lazy circles into your arm with his thumb, blinking slowly like he’s fighting sleep.

you finally whisper, “yeah. if you ask me.”

he lifts his head. squints at you. like he’s trying to focus through the alcohol.

then he grins.

and oh god, it’s such a boyish grin—uneven and almost smug, like he’s just won a bet you didn’t know you were making.

“good,” he whispers. “was gonna ask you tomorrow.”

your breath catches in your throat. “you were?”

he nods, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “but now you said yes first. i’m lucky.” he murmurs.

he’s asleep before you can even process it.

passed out in your lap, still holding your hand.

and you just sit there in the dim glow of the tv, sake forgotten, stroking his hair with your heart about to burst.

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kento did not make the first move. it wasn't because he didn't like you, in fact it was the opposite. he liked you too much to let a silly crush destroy your friendship. in fact, he too blinded by his own crush, he didn't notice yours.

kento was nervous, for the first time in his life, he was pacing around. his body was filled with nervousness, brimming to the very top.

"kento, trust me. y/n likes you too," haibara tried comforting kento.

"i know you're just saying this to make me feel better. please stop feeding me delusions," kento buried his face into his hands.

"everyone else sees it but you two! you guys look at each other as if they hung the moon and the stars. heck! the whole galaxy!"

"well, i don't think you're being objective right now! you are biased to me, your best friend who has the crush," he wanted to say more, he did. but he immediately stopped after seeing your approaching figure. "wait, they're coming."

"hey tweedle dee and tweedle dum!" you called to haibara and nanami, earning a wave back. but haibara narrowed his eyes, focusing on your weirdly placed hand.

"what do you have in your hand?" haibara questioned.

"what, i have nothing!" you held up your free hand, wiggling it around.

"the other one."

"well....it's nothing," you showed the box of chocolates to haibara and kento. haibara being the smart man he is, immediately saw the yellow coloured bow on top and knew it wasn't meant for sharing, nor was it meant for him.

"oops, i have...something! hey shoko!" haibara immediately ran away at this realisation.

"so, what's that?" kento finally speaks up.

"ummm...for you?" you internally blushed, your body felt hot. you were frankly, embarrassed. "for your birthday! belated birthday present of course!"

as kento took the chocolates from your hands, he came to the realisation that maybe....just maybe. haibara was right all along.

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This is so cute 😭

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"can you say 'dada' for me, my angel?," nanami says, coddling the little bundle of joy in his lap who flails her tiny arms in glee as he continues to gently bounce her up and down.

she babbles something incoherent, just some cute noises and little giggles before saying proudly, "mama!"

nanami huffs softly, his brows knitting together in a small frown, leaning back on the couch. you walk in, having just freshly showered, as you take a seat next to your darling husband. he huffs once more, this time with more emphasis so you turn your head towards him and ask, "what's wrong, sweetie?"

"she's not saying dada... she loves you more than me," he pouts, bottom lip jutting out slightly and the sight has your heart fluttering. such a composed and serious man being crumbled to pieces because of the tiny babygirl he's holding so dearly.

you sigh and comb your fingers through his hair and he instantly leans in, body relaxing the moment he feels your touch. "sweetie, that's not true," you reassure him. "i'm just at home more so she's more used to saying 'mama.' it's not that she loves you less."

"mama!," she exclaims, reaching out her tiny arms to you, trying to wriggle free from her dada's grasp and into yours. nanami plops the little girl on to your lap gently, resting his head on your shoulder as he caresses the cheeks of his little one.

"see?," he sighs. "she definitely loves you more." he boops her nose softly which makes her giggle, the sweet noise echoing throughout the living room.

"oh c'mon, sweetie," you say, rubbing your daughter's back as she continues to giggle at the way nanami keeps booping her tiny nose. "she's just having some difficulty, that's all."

"mama!," she beams, staring at him with the cutest smile, pointing her tiny chubby finger right at his face.

nanami lets out a soft chuckle, his finger now completely wrapped around her whole hand. "hm guess it just seems like i'm going to be her other mama," he titters, looking at her with nothing but love and adoration.

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i started playing lads. and oh em ger... calebbbb!!!!!

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imma be honest. one of the reasons why i stopped writing fics was bcs of lack of interaction 😞 i lost interest in tumblr

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mortal x immortal.....immortal who makes paintings and sculptures of mortal........

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tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ just some emotional damage via praise and love because i’m pretty sure nanami is not protected from that

nanami is brushing his teeth when you sidle up beside him in the mirror, stretch your arms overhead, and sigh like a sleepy cat.

“you’re very handsome, you know,” you murmur, voice low and scratchy with sleep.

he blinks at you through the mirror.

you blink back. grin.

“what was that?” he asks, mouth full of toothpaste foam.

“i said you’re handsome.”

he stares for one more second—and then leans over the sink and spits, lingering a second longer than necessary to keep his expression in check.

“why?”

“…why are you handsome?”

“no, why would you say that?”

you raise an eyebrow. “because it’s true?”

he rinses out his mouth like he’s trying to scrub the embarrassment off his tongue. “you can’t just—say things like that. in the morning. while i’m brushing my teeth.”

“i literally woke up and felt overcome with love for your stupid face.”

he covers his face with one hand.

“you don’t like being complimented while you’re… minty?”

he sighs. “i’m not prepared for this level of sincerity at 7am.”

“what is your preferred time for me to express how stupidly in love with you i am?”

“never,” he mutters. “or at least after coffee.”

you lean in, cheek against his bicep, watching him in the mirror as he rinses his toothbrush. “i like your laugh lines.”

“they’re wrinkles.”

“they’re hot.”

he drops the toothbrush. “stop.”

“you have excellent forearms, by the way.”

“what does that mean?”

“and your shoulders? criminal. you should be fined.” your hands fall off of them as he steps away to go get dressed.

“i’m leaving.”

“i’ll miss you desperately, lover:”

he stares at you from the doorway like he’s rethinking his entire identity. then, very slowly, he walks back over and takes your face in his hands.

“listen,” he says seriously. “you can’t just… emotionally ravage me before I’ve had a chance to emotionally armor myself.”

“that sounds like a you problem.”

“it is a me problem.”

you grin. “does it help if i say i’m proud of you and think you’re amazing and love the way you always fold the laundry just how i like?”

his expression crumples.

he buries his face in your neck.

“stop,” he says, muffled. “this is damaging.”

“do you need me to—”

“no. no more compliments. not until at least lunch.”

you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist. “deal. but at noon, i’m telling you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

he sighs against your skin. “i’ll prepare accordingly.”

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I've always wantedd to draw caleb :>>>>

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guys...why are all my drafts gone 😓

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synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you talk about your husband like he is a dream and, frankly, your coworkers think that you are making him up. that is until your husband shows up.

you talked about your husband all the time.

nanami this nanami that

“oh, my husband makes the best lunchboxes”

“he stayed up to help me with my report”

“he walks me to the station when i stay late”

you weren’t annoying about it. not really. just a little too consistent. always saying things like “he’ll pick me up after work today, we’re going to get pastries!” and showing off texts that made your coworkers tilt their heads and squint.

kento nanami sounded fake.

a little too nice. a little too attentive.

and when you tacked on the fact that he was hot — “blond, tall, glasses, kinda quiet but really handsome, you know?” — people at work started to think that maybe you were pulling everyone’s leg.

just a little.

not out of malice — no, never that — but maybe you were lonely. maybe you just needed a sweet little fantasy to get you through the day. who could blame you?

because no way someone like nanami existed. not the way you described him. it just didn’t sound real. not in this world. not in this economy.

but you never let up.

you beamed like a lovesick fool when your phone lit up with his name. you refused to make afterwork plans on fridays because that was “friday pasta night with kento.” you sighed wistfully every time someone so much as mentioned a bakery and then whispered, “kento always remembers my favorite,” like you were in some fairytale.

you weren’t smug about it either. it was just… relentless. like you were trying to manifest it into reality.

and maybe it would’ve stayed harmless water cooler gossip — “hey, what do you think her husband actually looks like?” or “maybe it’s just her roommate who makes all the food?” — if you hadn’t mentioned that he’d be picking you up from work one day soon.

“he’s on leave,” you’d said, head bent over a spreadsheet, smiling to yourself. “wants to take me out for dinner. he’ll be here early. maybe you’ll see him.”

you said it innocently. with that dreamy lilt you always got when his name was on your tongue.

but that set off everyone.

bets were placed. theories floated. some said he’d never show. others swore they’d catch you whispering to your reflection in the hallway like a crazy person. one guy from accounting said he saw you with a facetime open to a picture of a k-pop idol and he swore it was nanami. it was all harmless. mostly.

people just didn’t believe it.

until the elevator doors slid open.

and nanami stepped out.

he wore a tan wool coat, fitted slacks, button-up half undone at the throat — all that fine-tuned, elegant masculinity that seemed sculpted into place. hair slicked back, wristwatch glinting, and an expression that was all quiet restraint, the kind that turned heads on instinct.

and his eyes — sharp, deep, familiar — scanned the room once, then softened the moment he saw you.

“you ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

your coworkers went silent.

someone dropped their pen.

you lit up instantly. grinned, grabbed your bag, waved at everyone with a cheery, “see you tomorrow!” like this wasn’t the most monumental moment of vindication in the history of your office.

nanami took your coat from you before you even shrugged it off fully. guided you with a hand on the small of your back. leaned in and brushed a kiss to your temple so naturally that your coworker audibly gasped.

he glanced up then. noticed the sea of frozen faces.

“good evening,” he said politely, like he didn’t just obliterate the collective doubt of your entire floor with one gentle peck.

you left with him. smiling, chatting, looping your arm through his as he opened the door and held it for you.

and behind you — a stunned, stunned silence.

“…so,” someone whispered, finally. “that was nanami?”

“the nanami?” another croaked.

“that man’s real?”

“she wasn’t even exaggerating,” came the hollow, awe-struck reply. “she was under-selling him.”

and in the elevator, nanami turned to you and smiled, faint but amused. “you were right,” he murmured, “they really didn’t believe i existed.”

you snorted and leaned into his side. “i told you. now they’ll think i made you in a lab.”

“i wouldn’t be bothered by that,” he said, tugging you closer, kissing your knuckles as the doors closed. “you did a perfect job, if so.”

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so....i've been reading and enjoying a lot of books. ive been a consumer not a producer. if yall want some book thoughts and recs hmu!

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um.

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୨୧ — Every damn morning like clockwork, 5:45 AM. Tiny fingers pry one of Sukuna’s eyelids open, a small face hovering inches from his own. Her hair still wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with excitement, "Papa! Wake up!" Small hands nudging him while clutching her pink brush and collection of scrunchies against her pjs, "Hair time!"

Sukuna clicked his tongue, a massive hand engulfing her tiny face as he gently pushed her back, "Go back to bed, brat."

"Nooooo!" She whined, pushing his hand off her face and climbing onto his broad back, "You promised!"

With a displeased groan, he rolls over, causing her to slide off his back with a delighted squeal. Sitting up while running a hand through his own disheveled hair, he looks at the brat he helped create with a scowl, "Gimme that," he grumbles, snatching the brush from her.

She scrambles into his lap, her small back pressed against his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. Sukuna couldn’t relate, it was early… too early, like always. He looks down at the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "She was supposed to be a boy..."

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you trace your fingers over his the tattoos that decorate his warm arm, "You say that every morning," you tease him softly.

"Because it's true every morning," he fires back, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Awkwardly, he begins working through her tangles, his calloused hands- hands that at times come home bloody, now trying to be gentle with his daughter's delicate scalp.

"Ooww! Papa!!! You're pulling!"

"Stay still then..." he grunts, trying again with more care, "Your hair's a damn mess." As he brushes through her strands, he couldn't help but think how absurd this was- he was Sukuna Ryomen, the fucking guy who’s got everyone pissing their pants in fear… The guy who was born out of bloodshed, who's never had a single care for the lives he's taken. How the hell did he end up with a little girl, a wife, and a home? … His eyes softened as they narrowed, how the hell did he find himself fearing for this tiny things future- the day she's old enough to be married off to a man like him…?

He’s grown soft…

But it doesn't mean he won't rip out the throat of any man who dares lay a finger on her...

You watch, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of Sukuna struggling, being utterly defeated by a five year old's bedhead, "Want me to take over-"

"No!" both father and daughter respond in unison, making you throw your hands up in surrender before they decide to kick you out of bed.

"I got this," Sukuna insists, his fingers, more accustomed to handling weapons and violence than hair accessories, fumbling with the thin strands. His brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to separate her hair into sections. How the fuck was he supposed to make three even parts again?

Your daughter looks over at you, wholesome pride in her eyes. This was their thing- this morning struggle that somehow means everything to both of them. Even if Sukuna doesn't admit it, he loves being the protective girl dad... enjoys feeling needed and special in this way.

You lean against his bare shoulder as you watch him separate her hair into three uneven sections, trying to remember how braiding works. The girl in his lap patiently waits with the biggest smile, offering encouraging words as if she's the adult coaching the child.

"Papa! Papa! Like this! Over not under, remember? You did it yesterday!"

"Yesterday I fucked it up too." he mumbles, starting over for a third time.

When he finally manages something resembling a braid, secured with her favorite sparkly leopard scrunchie, she hops off his lap to examine his work in the bathroom mirror. You take the opportunity to press a kiss to Sukuna’s shoulder, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, "Looks like you're getting better~."

"Don't start what you can't finish," he warns, his voice dropping lower as he turns to catch your lips properly. His hand coming up to squeeze your cheek possessively.

Your daughter returns before you could respond, beaming despite the crooked, messy braid that's already coming undone at the bottom, "Perect! Thank you, Papa!"

Sukuna breaks away from you, looking down at her, at this tiny little being who fears nothing about him... not his size, not his tattoos, not how he puts the fear of god in her preschool teacher. She sees only her papa, the man who makes her burnt pancakes and braids her hair poorly.

The man who protects you- her mother, and would do anything for her. The man who would secretly die for her…

Placing his hand on the top of her head, he gives it a little ruffle, "Yeah kid... perfect."

˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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Some real close friends

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i just had to tell yall. that i just cried over a jjk edit of basically all the charas and it starts with nanami going "being a child is not a sin" and i just...i just.... i cant

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iwaizumi (27) athletic trainer is calling me...and i fear i cannot resist