heyybaejjk

[heyybaejjk]

Sweets?

a short drabble in which you try to do a TikTok trend to you and Nanami Kento’s daughter

It's just another slow Saturday in your household. Sitting on the couch, phone in hand while watching your 3 year old daughter try to do her block puzzle. It's one of her favorite things to do these days, puzzle. Her brows scrunched when she encountered a block that did not fit through.

cute, you think.

She really does resemble her father. Blonde hair that touches her shoulder, hazel eyes that sparkle like a shining star. Sometimes you wonder if your genes even try to fight. It didn't really bother you though.

Your eyes drift back to your phone. It still plays that one trend video on TikTok—the one where parents tell their children they’re so hungry they could eat a child. The child’s response varies, but it's always funny to watch. It makes you wonder what your daughter would say if you told her that.

“Sweets?” recognizing her nickname, her head turns to you. Eyes looking up from her puzzle sparkling as always, you really do love those eyes. “Mama?” you stand up from the couch, going to her side.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a child,” you said while trying to sound serious. She blinks a few times. “Me? Mama no. You can’t.”

“Why sweetheart? Mama’s starving though.” She tries to find a reason why her mom cannot eat her, and then her eyes flicker to her dad. Kento sits on a chair not far from her reading his book.

“Daddy? Mama wants to eat me because she’s hungry.” Chuckling softly hearing the commotion in front of him, his eyes turn to both of his girls. “Is that so, sweets?”

You can see the realization in her eyes after hearing the nickname fall from her dad’s mouth. “Mama, is it because I’m sweet? No Mama. I will bring you some candy okay? Wait here. Candy is also sweet” After saying that she stands up and walks to the other side of the room to take the said candy.

Hearing that you laugh. You didn't expect your daughter to take the nickname you and Kento always call her literally. Your eyes search your husband.

“Your daughter really is sweet, Ken.”

“Ours, darling.”

[heyybaejjk]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

🌹 for valentine's day

HEADCANONS:

- #1 : you are sick and your loving boyfriend/husband worried about you.

- #2 : you have insecurities and your loving boyfriend comforts you.

- #3 : valentines day with your boyfriend/husband. 🌹

- #4 : the difference in size between your hand and your bf/husband's hand.

DRABBLES:

Nanami Kento

#1 - #2 - #3 🌹 - #4 - #5 - #6 - #7 - #8 - #9 - #10

Nanami Kento (+18)

#1 - #2 - #3 - #4 - #5

Ryomen Sukuna

#1 - #2 - #3 (+18) - #4

Gojo Satoru (+18)

#1 - #2

Choso Kamo

#1

ONESHOTS:

Nanami Kento

- need help!? : you help your overworked colleague to solve his little -big- problem.

- be rude : you want your husband to be rougher with you.

- divorced but… : your ex-husband fuck you months after your divorce.

Gojo Satoru

- nerd gojo series 🤓

Sukuna Ryomen

- tumblr girl : your bf fuck you on the couch.

©2025 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[heyybaejjk]

Only Yours Today

synopsis. when nanami unexpectedly calls in sick just to spend the day with you contents. sfw, tooth-rotting fluff, nanami being a gentleman and a sweetheart. notes. i want a day-off from college. but i can't since last semester and everything is hectic

MASTERLIST

you wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of your favorite kettle whistling.

your first instinct is to panic—because nanami never leaves for work without waking you first. he’s religious about routine, almost obnoxiously so. 7:00 a.m. sharp, every weekday. a kiss on your forehead, a brush of his knuckles down your jaw, then the sound of the front door closing softly behind him.

except he’s… here?

you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the sun is barely peeking through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in soft gold. there’s the familiar creak of floorboards, then the quiet click of your bedroom door opening.

nanami steps in with a tray balanced in one hand and that subtle smile that always manages to wreck you.

“good morning, y/n,” he says, voice warm, deep, and freshly brewed like the mug in his hand.

you blink at him, confused but already melting. “…are you working from home?”

he sets the tray on your lap—coffee, lightly sweetened just how you like it, and toast with the edges cut off.

“i called in sick,” he says casually, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “so i’m all yours today.”

you stare at him.

then blink.

“wait, what?”

“i said—”

“you called in sick?”

he nods once, then takes off his glasses to wipe them with the edge of your blanket like he does when he’s pretending to be nonchalant.

“you never call in sick,” you say, still stunned. “you went to work the day you had the flu. you showed up to a meeting after a night mission with three broken ribs.”

“that was reckless,” he agrees simply.

“exactly—so why now?”

nanami finally meets your gaze, his expression gentling as he walks over to your side of the bed.

“because you looked tired last night,” he murmurs, “and i wanted to give you something soft to wake up to today. so… me.”

your breath catches.

because he says it without fanfare, without performance. just a truth he’s already accepted.

you shake your head slowly, dazed. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m aware,” he replies smoothly. “but you’re the one who keeps me.”

breakfast happens slowly, in the warmth of rumpled sheets and half-lidded smiles. nanami sips his coffee while reading the news off his phone, one hand casually resting on your thigh under the blanket like it belongs there. (it does.)

afterward, you get up to brush your teeth, but he follows you into the bathroom like a shadow. you arch a brow when he wordlessly picks up your toothbrush, dabs on paste, and hands it to you.

“you’re hovering,” you mumble, toothpaste foaming slightly.

“i’m staying,” he corrects. “different.”

you snort.

but you don’t ask him to leave.

by 10 a.m., the two of you are on the couch, feet tangled, a fuzzy blanket over both your legs. there’s an old documentary playing—nanami’s choice, something about 19th-century trade policies—and you’re pretending to watch, but you’re really just watching him.

his hand rests on your ankle, thumb lazily drawing circles.

there’s no urgency in his touch. no demand. just quiet affection, like he has nowhere else to be—and more importantly, no one else he’d rather be with.

you sigh, nuzzling your cheek against the pillow. “i still can’t believe you called in sick. they’ll riot at the office.”

“they’ll survive.”

“you’re the backbone of the entire team.”

“i am.” he glances over at you. “but you are the backbone of me. and i happen to think today, i need my spine more than they do.”

you blink slowly.

“you’re weirdly poetic when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

“i am always poetic. you just don’t listen before your morning coffee.”

you both laugh.

it’s light and easy, the kind of laughter that only happens when the rest of the world is far away.

around noon, you both go for a walk. nanami holds your hand like it’s a habit, not a choice—thumb brushing over your knuckles as he listens to you ramble about the weird dream you had last night (something about a baby panda that spoke fluent french and asked you for tax advice).

he listens, fully and attentively, nodding like it’s the most important topic in the world.

at one point, he pauses near a small corner café. “would you like to go in?”

you grin. “only if we sit by the window and pretend we’re strangers falling in love for the first time.”

he hums, amused. “you want a day off and a meet-cute?”

“i want it all.”

nanami chuckles. “you always have.”

and you always will—especially when he looks at you like this, like your world is the one he’s happiest orbiting.

you return home in the early afternoon with croissants and coffee and a single tiny flower he plucked from the hedge when he thought you weren’t looking.

you catch him slipping it into your cup holder and he just shrugs, all deadpan. “i didn’t have a vase.”

you press your face into his coat, laughing.

back inside, he rolls up his sleeves again—domestic deity style—and makes you both lunch. it’s something warm and simple, but he plates it like a michelin-star chef because that’s who he is: always composed, always precise, even in love.

“i’ve noticed,” he says quietly as you eat beside him at the dining table, “that when i’m home with you, i feel less like a man dragging his feet through obligation. and more like someone who’s… content.”

you tilt your head. “you’re never obligated to stay.”

he looks at you, serious. “no. but i want to. which is rarer.”

later, you nap in his lap.

he’s seated on the armchair, legs stretched out, a book in one hand and you curled against his chest like you were carved to fit there. his free hand strokes through your hair in slow, absent motions.

he doesn’t say a word.

but you feel it in every quiet sigh, in every slight shift of his fingers against your scalp.

he chose this day. he chose you.

you wake up just as the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, golden-orange light painting his features.

“hey,” you whisper, voice still hoarse with sleep. “still here?”

his hand rests on your back, palm warm and grounding. “always.”

as evening settles in, you both lie on the bed, tangled beneath soft sheets, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

you whisper, “do you ever regret days like this?”

“never,” he says instantly.

“even when you’re falling behind on emails and half your company probably hates me right now?”

nanami shifts slightly so he can look at you fully. “no one hates you.”

“i might’ve stolen their favorite employee.”

“they’ll manage.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “you need to understand, y/n—i didn’t call in sick because i was burnt out. i called in because i wanted to be here. with you. no spreadsheets. no deadlines. just… this.”

you don’t respond with words.

instead, you tilt your chin up and press your lips to his—softly, slowly, the kind of kiss that speaks of deep affection, quiet promises, and something warm blooming in the silence between breaths.

he kisses you back just as gently.

no rush.

no need to ask for more.

this is enough.

by nightfall, you’re brushing your teeth side by side again, and nanami’s reflection catches yours in the mirror. he watches you like you’re the sunrise at midnight—like you’re something rare and real that he never wants to miss.

you spit out your toothpaste. “you’re staring.”

“i’m allowed.”

“because you’re sick?”

“because i’m in love.”

you freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink.

then slowly, you glance at him. “you love me?”

nanami places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently toward him until you’re standing face-to-face.

“i think i’ve loved you since the first time you made fun of my tie pattern,” he says softly. “but yes—i do.”

your chest tightens in the best way.

you whisper, “i love you too.”

he leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “good. because i plan to call in sick a little more often.”

you grin. “scandalous.”

“i prefer the term intentional.”

that night, he holds you close beneath the blankets, one arm wrapped around your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck.

and just before you fall asleep, you hear him murmur:

“being yours is the only thing that ever made me feel like i wasn’t wasting time.”

you smile into the dark, your heart full.

because today, time didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like love.

[heyybaejjk]

South District, Gibraltar 3rd Martius Day 24 10:30am

I saw her.

I met her.

She was waiting for me in the water, her head all but submerged, and watching me. It was the strangest thing. Moonlight shining down, reflecting off the gentle water, and a cool wind blowing between us, I felt entranced. Eyes fixed on each other, I could do nothing but wade in the water, soaking my trousers as I pushed through and delved deeper and deeper until I was within arm's reach from her.

We spoke.

Well, at first, we didn't say a thing. None would blame me, I'd hope. After all, I was mesmerised. She was mesmerising. For weeks now, I had been wondering ceaselessly what she looked like, truly looked like, and not just through the blur of near-death and sea water. I doubted my own eyes. What if her hair was completely different than I had remembered? What if her skin was not as smooth and soft as I felt it had been?

So, for what felt like hours, we stayed there, staring at each other. We were so close to the shore, I could still reach the sandy floor. I understood even then that she had likely realised I couldn't swim and compromised for my comfort. That realisation was what urged me deeper into the water, I think.

The sea was warm. Or maybe it was cold. I can't seem to remember that detail very well.

She has a tail!

Fish-like with fins and scales and ever so slightly glowing.

It was difficult to tell in the blanket of the night exactly what colours her scales were but they were light and almost green-seeming by her waist, much thinner and transparent, until they thickened and darkened into dark blue as they descended down where legs should be. I so badly wanted to reach out and feel but I feared it would not be proper.

Her torso and up looked human enough. She had arms, ample breasts, a neck, jaw, lips, nose, eyes, sharp Elven ears, hair and gills (I think they were gills, I'd have to ask for clarification). Another oddity she had, though, was the glittering material that resembled jellyfish tendrils wrapped around her chest. A binding, it seems. I could see more than I should have but she didn't seem to mind the discrepancy in our modesty. Perhaps it was common among her people.

She reached out first — it seems she is always making the first move between us.

I wish I was bolder. That's a mark of a true researcher. As Professor Watanabe, of Divination 101, loves to say, 'Bravery is the foundation of Eden. It takes only one act of courage and one leap made in faith, to begin something new.'

He'll be proud of her, at least.

Webbed and with a pearlescent sheen to her skin, which shone under the moonlight, she had raised her hand, held it up in the air and showed me who she is without words. I knew, without needing to ask, what she wanted.

Our hands pressed, I felt her warmth once more.

There was something in the air or in the water that coated our skin. I could not and cannot place it, but I was electrocuted. Zapped and startled, I had backed away, not in fright, to be clear, but because I was suddenly so aware of her and of myself. I know now that there was not a second, even just one, where I felt afraid. Me. The man who practiced every experiment we were due to have in class weeks prior so I could get every step and variable right, so I would not reveal myself a fool or, worse, injure another.

My hair must have been a mess from the tossing and turning I had been doing, my skin ghastly pale, whereas she was gorgeous magnificent pretty.

She swam closer, her nose (she had one! whatever could an underwater creature need a nose for, I couldn't ask, what if it was rude?) brushed mine, and a smile took over her expressions. Splashing water onto me with playful giggles, I felt a wall come down between us. It was ridiculous, sudden, and out of place, but oddly fun.

I could never confer this information to any respectful scholar since it absolutely defies our rules about fraternisation with subject matters. Could you imagine the look on Professor Yaga's face if, when asked how I went about building rapport with a representative of the world I'd been chasing, I replied, by splish-splashing!

The horror.

Well, anyway, feeling braver, I told her my name, my origins, how I'm from another world, and my purpose. I wanted to be honest. Somehow, I felt I owed it to her. She did not look surprised.

When asked about this, she said, many have come before me, but none have ever gotten as close as I have. I was taken aback by her openness, though I dared not say a thing about it, lest she retracts her transparency. Every single detail she offered, I consumed eagerly, inching closer and closer until the two of us had drifted further and further away from shore, aided by her strength. She allowed me to hold on to her arms and some odd current or other held me up, keeping me afloat.

That was very interesting, in hindsight. It seemed she, and likely her people too (whom I noticed she didn't talk much about, seemingly out of a need to protect them) had Vis, which we know to be the ability to harness the energy inherent within the soul, should they be awakened and sensitive to the forces around them. Her kind are truly advanced. The academic board will be very interested to hear about that.

They'll also be very interested to hear that I have found Atlantis. Or, rather, will come to find it.

She is the key.

I asked her why she had saved me, had risked herself and her people for a stranger. A look washed over her. I don't know what it was, but she said, she didn't know. In truth, there was nothing special about me at first glance — I was yet another bumbling student, too engrossed in what is hidden to understand why it is. I search for what is out of reach and ignore what is in my grasp. Of course, that hurt to hear. Being told I was just like everyone else before me stung in a way I hadn't expected it to.

Perhaps sensing my disappointment, she further clarified, still swimming us around, never venturing too far, that there was something different about me. Her people didn't understand her fascination, why she'd watch me. They thought she was being overly cautious but she was just drawn to me.

She laughed when I blushed.

I wanted to make her laugh again.

Apparently, she also felt bad that I was so close to finding them that when I fell over board, she thought it only fair to give me a second chance. For that, for her, I will be eternally grateful. And if time ever came that I can return the favour, I shall not hesitate.

Feeling bolder, I asked her if that haunting tune came from her. She nodded, a little shy, I think. She explained that she thought she might never see me again. That the last student who had gotten hurt was whisked back home expeditiously. That wouldn't happen, I told her. Not to me. Not now. And all because of her. Because she had been so kind as to save me, to give me hope, to let me in, even just an inch.

We drew quiet eventually, just floating in the water, under the moon's light. I never let go of her arms. I felt a peace I had never before, a tranquility I knew not existed. If I could bottle it up, I would have. In her, in this stranger, I felt an odd sense of belonging I never knew I needed. For that too, I could never thank her enough.

I had so much to say. So many questions to ask but, late as it was, I had to part ways with her. She understood. It seemed she already knew our time would be short.

Having left, I found, for the first night in a long time, comfort in sleep. There was no melancholy song overwhelming me, no stress from the fear that I was lost, searching for something that could never be found, that might not even exist, and no feeling of loneliness for the first time in my life.

This is not the last time we will see of each other. I'd like to search for a solution to my inability to flourish on her turf, as they say. I don't want to keep relying on her to carry the burden of this budding, strictly professional relationship. At the present moment, we more closely resemble a knowledgable aunt and the pitiful idiot nephew. I'd very much like to stand (or rather, swim) as equals. I don't want her to see me as someone who needs help all the time.

So to the books I will go. I do not have access to the library of Eden but Haibara might be able to help, he simply has to find out where the library is. After I've solved that problem, my mission seems clear.

First, write a letter to Professor Yaga

Second, build rapport with the woman whose name I now realise I never got the name of....

First, find out her name.

Second, write a letter to Professor Yaga.

And third, get her to lead me to her home and grant me permission to research her civilisation.

My people need to know Atlantis has been found.

[heyybaejjk]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation.

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Was really on the fence about posting the first part to this series. i’m glad most people seem to be enjoying it though :) so sit down and let sextherapist!nanami be your comfort for today

Part one. | Part two. |

‘I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.’

Those words burned Nanami’s ears. He knows it’s only your first session, but he can see that there’s already progress being made just by having these discussions of sex out in the open..

It reminded him just why he was so passionate about safe sex measures.

“I was only going to take the tea to placate you…”

Even if he knew that was the truth behind your answer, it still left a heavy somber feeling on his heart. He nodded, keeping his face trained on an empathetic expression.

“Do you do that often..? Put your needs behind the wants of others..?”

God, why was he reading you to filth right now? You took a deep shaky breath, reaching for more tissues because you’re definitely going to need them.

“It’s just easier..” Your throat feels like it’s trying to close as you’re attempting to force back your tears.

“Shh, let it all out..” Nanami knows that he shouldn’t be taking this tone of voice with you. He shouldn’t be shushing you and cooing to you that it’s okay, but he can’t override his innate biological need to protect and nurture.

The tears begin falling down your cheeks once again, and your shoulders shake with each small sob that wracks your body.

Nanami can’t resist himself. He leans over, and his big thick palm rests on your shoulder, feeling like a secure anchor out in the middle of the ocean.

“Such a kind, caring soul..” he whispers to you, using his hand to rub on your shoulder soothingly.

You feel the urge to press your face into his chest and vent out all of your innermost feelings and thoughts to this man while he strokes your hair lovingly, but you hold yourself still in your chair, knowing it’d be highly inappropriate.

Soon, your tears dry and you take a sobering breath. That was a lot, and the session isn’t even over yet.

“So, what do I do about.. him hounding me..?” For some reason, you still can’t come to terms with using the word coercion. It feels like a betrayal to your marriage, even if you do implicitly know that he’s been coercing you to get what he wants.

“Well, what can you do?” Nanami asked softly. He eased back into his chair, preparing himself mentally to get back in his counselor mindset.

“I guess I could…” you search your mind for answers. The only obviously wrong answer is to continue giving into him. “I could tell him how it stresses me out when he does that.”

Nanami nods his head. Inwardly, he doesn’t think that’s going to be enough. If your husband was anywhere near a halfway decent person, he would be able to understand how asking multiple times is inappropriate.

“What do you think will get in your way from telling him about how it makes you feel?”

You imagine telling your husband and how he’d react. “I guess I can be scared of him going in the complete opposite…”

Nanami’s eyebrows furrow, and he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “What do you mean by that?”

“Like… I imagine telling him, and he’ll probably respond by saying that he’ll never ask again and that I’ll need to initiate sex anytime I want it.”

Nanami can feel his eye twitch. Is there any manipulation tactic that your husband isn’t using? “I can see how that’d be discouraging. You unfortunately can’t control how your husband responds, but you can control how you phrase the question. Let’s roleplay this conversation if that’s okay. Pretend I’m your husband.”

Your face heats a bit. A tiny voice in your head tells you that if Nanami was your husband, you wouldn’t be having this issue. After taking a deep breath, you try and pretend that you’re speaking to your husband.

“When you ask me to have sex with you multiple times in a day, it really stresses me out and puts a lot of pressure on me.”

“So? What do you want me to do, Y/n? Am I suppose to read your mind and know when you want it?” Kento’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp and irritated. He watches your eyes widen in response, hurt coils on your face. “Is that how he’d respond?” he adds in a much softer tone, trying to remind you that this is just a roleplay exercise.

After a long pause, “Yeah, you got it spot on somehow…”

Because I know how narcissistic assholes act, he thinks to himself.

“Let’s try that question again, but this time, I want you to phrase your statement so you put blame on the questions and not your husband, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, trying to find the words to say. “Those types of questions make me feel really pressured and make it hard for me to feel ready for sex.”

“Perfect. You did so well,” Nanami praises you with a warm smile.

Butterflies swarm your stomach. It’s not often you hear those words instead of hearing more things you need to work on. A small, timid smile curls on your lips.

“Do you think he’ll react poorly to that too?” you ask, wanting to know Nanami’s opinion.

“There’s no way for me to know how he’ll respond, but there’s only one way to find out, right? If we get no where with this plan, we’ll do something else,” he assures you, sitting back in his chair.

His eyes flick down to his watch. The session needs to come to an end soon, but the thought of you walking out of his home makes his stomach feel tight. He’s not ready to let you leave yet.

“Let’s briefly touch on the second thing—“

Your phone’s ringtone interrupts Nanami’s words, and you quickly apologize before fishing your phone out of your purse.

“It’s my husband. He’s probably wondering how much longer I’ll be.” You click the reject button and lock your phone, but Nanami can see how the simple act of rejecting his call makes you feel nervous. Your fingers shook lightly, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“That’s okay. We can wrap it up here for today… During our next session…”

The sound of vibration fills the room this time.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Nanami. He gets worried..”

More like controlling. It’s just barely been one hour.

“Send him a small text and let him know we’re almost done.” Nanami gives a kind smile, even while he’s having violent thoughts about your husband.

He watches as your fingers fly across your keyboard, quickly typing out a small message. You then lock your phone again, stow it away in your purse, and you return your gaze back to Nanami.

If you keep your husband waiting too much longer, you’ll hear about it later today.

“During our next session, I want you to tell me how it went with your husband. I also would like to touch base on the next thing you said while we talked about your lack of sex drive. You mentioned that you try to cater to him, but it’s never enough. We’ll get into what that means next time, okay?” Nanami says, finally getting his words out without an interruption.

You swallow thickly, immediately feeling nervous for the next session. You’re not sure if you’re ready to talk about the act of having sex, but you knew it’d come up eventually.

“Okay… I’ll see you then, Mr. Nanami. Take care,” you wish him farewell before rising from the small couch. Nanami rises with you and guides you toward his front door.

His eyes can’t help but glance down towards your figure, and he feels his hatred for your husband grow. He must not truly understand how lucky he is to have a wife like you.

“Take care, Y/n. You have my number if you need to come in earlier than scheduled.”

As soon as the front door closes, you dial your husband’s number, ready to explain that the session went over in timing.

Meanwhile, Nanami also picks up his phone, and he dials a peer’s number, Atsuya Kusakabe. Nanami’s known Kusakabe since they were in graduate school together. They often shared phone calls with each other and their other friend, Hiromi Higuruma. While Higuruma wasn’t a therapist, he did work in legal, which helped Kusakabe and Nanami out a lot with legal questions.

After a few rings, Kusakabe answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, you’re not in a session, are you?” Nanami asks, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He pours water into his kettle to start on some tea.

“I wouldn’t have answered if I was in one. I only do intakes today, and I finished those up hours ago. Why? You needing to talk?” Kusakabe’s voice sounds even more gravely over the phone than it does in person. Nanami imagines he’s probably enjoying a cigarette right now.

“Yeah, I just got out of a first session with a female patient. It’s weighing on me.”

“I don’t know how you do what you do, Nanami. You know, you’d probably have a better quality of life if you focused on something else.”

“Not an option. I didn’t spend years of my life researching to do something else. This also isn’t weighing on me like my other cases do.” Nanami leans against one of his kitchen counters, looking up towards the ceiling. He debates on not telling Kusakabe at all about how your case. If he tells him how he feels, that means he has to acknowledge that it’s teetering on breaking ethical code.

“Well? Go on.”

“My client has a piss poor excuse for a husband, and I’m pretty sure the story runs a lot deeper than what is being said.”

“Jeez Ken, you said this was her first session, right? Of course there’s more to the story. That’s a given. You think there’s abuse going on?” Kusakabe flicks his cigarette, looking out into his property. He always enjoyed the quiet life way more, which is why he did career counseling. It was way less stressful.

“I know there’s at least emotional abuse going on. I can tell she’s not even aware of the levels of manipulation her husband is using. I had to bite my tongue several times throughout our session.”

A chuckle sounds from the other side of the phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re already partial to this woman, Ken.”

Nanami doesn’t respond immediately. His jaw tenses slightly. Luckily, the tea kettle whistling breaks the slight tension. “I just care. That’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be doing this job if you didn’t care, but do you care too much to do your job effectively?”

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @aldebrana @pandabiene5115 @petrichorvzlia @stargirl-mayaa @simssssssss5 @des-todoroki @nevvynev @dysphxriaii @rjreins @sukunawhores @nanamin-chan @mullermilkshake @thelostkira @anuncalledbridge @elliehenry24 @williamafton26 @ambiguouslady42 @airandyeah

[heyybaejjk]

ugh my man is too fine

hii i just saw your post and first of all: I hope you get well soon!

secondly, may i request a nanami kento x reader fic where they are happily married but the reader ignores him as a prank but just cant hold out because nanami is the communication king we all need

Communication King

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, smau, prank, fluff, maybe some angst idk.

An: I couldn’t think of much for this prompt. I apologize if this isn’t satiating your Nanami needs 🥺 Ugh, Nanami is truly the communication king. I fear that I need him on a way that is disrespectful to feminism.

[heyybaejjk]

WHERE THE PLUM BLOSSOMS FALL | N.K. — ACT IV

SUMMARY: you were born beneath a crown, nanami was raised beside a blade—two lives shaped in silence, crossing in the hush between breath and bloom.

PAIRING: general!nanami kento x princess!reader CONTAINS: slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, historical au, imperial court shenanigans, period, monarchy dynamics, political intrigue, court politics, non-sexual intimacy, mutual respect, power dynamics, repressed emotions, courtship in silence, loyalty and betrayal WC: 9.7k WARNINGS: implied violence, depictions of grief and loss, character death, emotional manipulation, dubious morality, sexism

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🌸 ACT IV – THE ARMOR UNDONE

IN BETWEEN WINGS – NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

The week begins with a silence that rings louder than any war drum.

But it is not a silence of reverence. It is the silence of suppression. Of things forced underground.

The palace does not hum with life anymore. It thrums with watchfulness. There is no ceremony, no celebration. Only the slow, suffocating shift of power solidifying itself like frost on a windowpane. The guards double their rotations, moving not like protectors but sentries watching a prisoner. Courtiers slip down side passages like ghosts. The ministers form smaller circles, tighter knots, their conversations cutting off the moment someone passes.

Eyes track every step you take. As if the mere act of watching you closely might contain you.

Nanami walks behind you through it all. Three paces behind. Always silent, always still.

But his silence is not obedience anymore. It is agony.

He can feel the weight of it in his chest, pressing hard against every breath. It lives in the quiet flex of his hand when you are touched by strangers. It lives in the way his jaw tightens every time you bow your head to a man not fit to shine your shoes.

The new Emperor governs not from wisdom, but from terror. He is not a king. He is a boy clutching a crown with bloodless fingers, terrified of dropping it. Terrified of shadows, of whispers, of you.

He is just like his father.

Your light is the one he cannot bear.

The Silent Flame, they called you. The people’s princess.

But now your flame has been veiled behind silk curtains and guarded doors. Since the coronation, you have not been seen by the capital. The court whispers of illness, of grief, but Nanami knows better.

You are not unwell. You are being silenced.

And still, the people ask. The traders in the market, the women by the temple gates, the soldiers at the training yard. Children murmur your name like a lullaby passed between dreams.

And every whispered question makes the new Emperor’s grip tighten.

The northern envoys arrive on the fourth day.

Their procession is loud and cruel–furs stained with old blood, carts weighed with silver and weapons, their laughter too big for the narrow courtyards. The brute they offer is not among them yet, but his shadow already stretches across the palace walls. They speak of him with pride. He is a man of conquest. A man who knows how to take what is his.

They speak of you as if you are one of the gifts in their cart.

Nanami hears it all. Sees everything.

He watches as the seamstresses arrive. Strange women with sharp fingers and stiff smiles, dragging bolts of crimson and ivory silk like a bridal shroud. Dresses are laid out like offerings on polished floors. Gold threads catch in the candlelight like veins in a corpse.

He watches you stand while they measure you. Your spine never bends.

You do not speak. Don’t look down. Don’t flinch when they pull the collar too tight or whisper too loudly.

But your silence is not power anymore. It is the silence of stone placed in a shrine. Worshipped. Revered. Never asked.

He watches himself do nothing. Because he cannot act. Not yet.

You walk with him through the Hall of Imperial Petitions, where foreign dignitaries have laid their treasures for you like traps. Gold earrings meant to gild your ears. Perfumed oils meant to mark your body. A sword meant to lie beside your wedding bed.

And still, you do not speak.

He stands guard while you walk through the wreckage of your future. And it destroys him.

Outside your chambers, new guards stand every night. Always unfamiliar. Always young. Trained in loyalty to the throne, not to the Empire. Not to you. They watch you as if you might flee at any moment. They watch Nanami like a man already suspected of treason.

You do not speak to him. Not more than is necessary. A nod. A word. A glance when protocol demands it.

But you see him. And that is worse, because he sees the unspoken question in your eyes everytime you pass each other:

Where were you when they took my voice?

You are not allowed to walk alone. Not even to the gardens. The trees you once loved. The koi you once stood beside. Gone from your reach. You eat in silence. You walk in silence. You prepare to be sold in silence.

Nanami follows you. But not as a shadow. As a ghost.

He is a man haunting the ruins of his own choices.

Every time you lift your arm and silk brushes against your wrist, he imagines the gold bangles you will be forced to wear on your wedding night. Every time you look away during a fitting, he sees you with a man who will touch you without reverence, speak to you without respect, crush you beneath his weight and call it duty.

The knowledge burns.

Not because you belong to Nanami. But because you should never have belonged to anyone.

You are not a tool. Not a treaty. You are the last truth left in a court made of rot.

And he–he is the last blade that remembers what it means to serve the Empire.

Not the throne. Not the bloodline. But the Empire.

And you are his Empire.

In the hours when the palace sleeps and the incense fades, he watches your shadow against the rice-paper screen.

You lift your hand to the doorframe when no one else sees. Stand there for a moment longer than needed. Eyes closed. Breathing not with despair, but with calculation.

You are preparing. He knows that look. He wore it once, at thirteen, when he picked up a sword he wasn’t meant to carry.

And he fears what you will choose. Because every day, he loses a piece of the armor he built. The kind not forged in steel, but in silence. Obedience. Oaths.

Soon, it will fall. And when it does–

He does not know if he will still be a soldier. Or something else entirely.

NORTHERN WING – 天命の殿 (THE HALL OF HEAVEN’S MANDATE)

The summons came just past dusk. No pageantry accompanied it, no procession of banners or guards. Only a whisper passed from a steward with downcast eyes, the words nearly swallowed by the quiet that had become the palace’s new state of being:

His Majesty wishes to speak with the Princess.

And yet, Nanami was called too. To stand watch. To remain silent. To observe.

He knew what that meant. A soldier does not need it spelled out. Not in writing. Not even in words. It was an instruction wrapped in civility: remain still. Do nothing.

They trusted him enough to stand there. They no longer trusted him enough to leave.

Now, the Hall of Heaven’s Mandate looms around him like the hollowed ribcage of a fallen beast. Torchlight trembles along the walls, casting shadows from the dragon’s golden body etched across the ceiling. The throne sits at the far end, bathed in pale gold, its lion-carved arms clutching the dais with the permanence of old power.

You walk three paces ahead of him.

You are silent, as always–but not in submission. No. There is no obedience in the way you move. No meekness in the quiet fall of your footsteps. There is only deliberation. Precision. Your presence doesn’t enter a room–it arrives, like a breath held too long finally exhaled.

Your robe is pale as pearl. No embroidery, no ornamentation. Only white silk bound tightly at your waist and a single silver pin anchoring your hair high against the crown of your head. There is no jewelry on your wrists, no paint on your lips. But you are undoubtedly luminous.

He cannot look at you without feeling like he’s staring at something sacred and profane all at once.

A poem written in steel. A prayer spoken beneath a hanging blade.

You do not look at him. You haven’t in days.

The Emperor does not rise as you enter. He sits as if carved into the throne, as if the wood has grown around him, as if the crown on his brow is the only thing holding his spine upright. Lighter than the one his father wore, thinner across the brow, but heavier somehow. He wears it like a man who cannot tell whether it crowns him or binds him.

He watches you the way one watches something behind a glass–appraising. Detached. Afraid.

You step forward and kneel at the base of the dais. Nanami mirrors you.

“I see you still know how to kneel,” the Emperor says, his voice soft, almost amused.

Nanami’s shoulders tense. The heat in the room does not rise, but it feels hotter. Thinner. He exhales slowly, eyes locked on the distance between the Emperor’s hand and the hem of his robe. On the distance between you and danger.

You raise to your feet with fluid grace. “I kneel out of respect, not obedience.”

“Is there a difference?” the Emperor replies, shifting his weight slightly, descending the first step.

“One is earned. The other is demanded.”

It is like watching two predators circle. Quiet. Beautiful. Utterly lethal.

The Emperor comes down another step. His gait is slow, measured. Every motion feels rehearsed. Performed.

“I gave you two weeks,” he says, each word wrapped in silk but honed like steel. “Two weeks to prepare. Two weeks to remember that your value lies not in your name, but in what it can purchase.”

“I am prepared,” you reply. Your voice is calm, so unwavering, it feels unnatural.

“To obey?”

“To endure.”

The Emperor’s lips twitch, but it is not a smile.

He circles you slowly now, the edge of his robe brushing the polished marble. The torchlight catches the angles of his face, casting half of it in gold and the other in shadow.

“You think the people love you,” he sneers. “You think they chant your name because they see you as their salvation. But love is fickle, sister. It fades. It turns. And when it does, what will you have left?”

He stops behind you.

Nanami feels his breath lodge in his throat. She has herself, he thinks. And that is more than you ever had.

The Emperor steps closer. “You forget who raised you. You forget who protected you when Father doubted your use. You think this affection from the streets makes you powerful. It makes you deluded.”

“I forget nothing,” you say. “I simply remember more than you do.”

“And soon, thank the heavens, you will be gone.” The Emperor’s voice is sharper now, curling with obvious disdain. “Married off to the north. Out of my sight. No longer a thorn in my side. I will not miss your silence, sister. Or your defiance.”

You do not flinch. You lift your chin.

“Then perhaps Mother was lucky to die before she saw what you’ve become.”

The silence that follows is instantaneous and vicious. It is not an absence of sound–it is a knife pressed to the throat of stillness, waiting to be drawn.

Nanami’s heart clenches. His breath stops short in his lungs.

He sees the Emperor’s shoulders go rigid. The subtle shift of weight in his heel. The small pivot of rage through his spine. The gathering storm behind his eyes.

Then it happens.

The Emperor’s hand arcs through the air and strikes you.

The blow lands hard across your cheek, the sound sharp and echoing off the columns like a slap to the soul. Your head turns with the force of it, and a crimson line blooms along the corner of your mouth–bright against the canvas of your skin.

Nanami moves. Steel clears the sheath halfway before thought even reaches his mind. His body acts before conscience does. Before reason. Before restraint.

The sword gleams like lightning under torchlight. Not raised yet–just revealed. But that is enough.

You lift your hand. You don’t look at him. Your gaze stays fixed ahead, your eyes burning. But your hand is steady.

Stop.

The gesture is simple. Clean. Authority incarnate. And Nanami–against every instinct, every raging need to end the man who dared–halts.

Not for the throne. Not for the law. For you.

The Emperor’s voice coils like smoke, his eyes burning into Nanami’s. “That,” he hisses, “is treason.”

Nanami remains still. Sword unsheathed. The weight of steel in his hand impossibly light–and impossibly heavy.

“Have you forgotten your station, General? Have you forgotten whom you serve?”

Nanami does not speak. He cannot. His throat is full of cotton. But his eyes remain fixed–not on the Emperor, but on you.

You do not wipe the blood. You do not flinch. You do not submit. And something in him–something he had spent his entire life forging in silence–finally snaps.

You have been hurt by power before. But never like this. Not in front of him. Not when he could have stopped it.

His blade trembles once in his grip. Not from fear or hesitation. From restraint.

And in that moment, Nanami understands the truth that has been slowly shaping itself inside him, one heartbeat at a time:

This is not service. This is not loyalty. This is not justice.

This is cruelty masquerading as order.

And he will not serve it. He serves the Empire, and that is you. Not because he covets you. Not because he claims you. But because you are the only thing left in this place worth bleeding for.

He does not sheathe the blade, but he lowers it. For now.

The air in the Hall of Heaven’s Mandate does not settle after the strike. It curdles. It coils around the columns, draping itself between the torches like smoke that cannot find a fire.

You stand unmoving. The red at your lip has begun to dry, but it does not fade. It darkens. Like a seal. A brand. Like a mark pressed into wax. A reminder of what has been taken–and what remains.

The Emperor ascends the dais again, step by slow step, as if rising back to his throne gives him gravity. Authority. Divine right.

Nanami does not move. His blade is still drawn. Not because he is frozen, but because something inside him is still burning, still deciding what kind of man he is.

Your hand lowers to your side. Your spine remains straight, your chin lifted. There is no fragility in your posture. Only fury carefully compressed into formality.

The Emperor’s voice drops. “Enough of this pretense.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he speaks–he looks at Nanami.

“You are still breathing, General, because I have use for you.”

Nanami does not blink.

“But let me be clear.” The Emperor stands near his throne, his hands clasped behind his back. “One more disobedient act–one more step out of line, one more flicker of steel drawn against me, your Emperor–and I will have you executed.”

The threat doesn’t shout. It slides through the air like a knife thrown in the dark.

“This time, I will make it public,” he continues. “Your loyalty torn from your body piece by piece. The people will see that even the strongest weapon can be broken.”

Nanami’s hand is steady on the hilt. But in his chest, his heart is not.

He stares at the Emperor not as a servant, nor a shadow. He stares as a man who has now seen the thing he serves in all its glory–and loathes it.

The Emperor turns back to you, voice lighter now, mocking. “You will be wed within the week. The envoys have already confirmed. Your husband arrives soon. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

You say nothing. You don’t look at Nanami. He doesn’t expect you to. But he looks at you, and what he sees there twists something in him to the point of breaking.

You have not cried. You will not cry. But you are wounded. And you are bracing again–just as you did when the marriage was announced. Just as you did when your father died. Just as you have done every time the Empire tried to use you like a pawn.

The Emperor waves his hand as if the matter is trivial.

“She will be escorted back to her chambers,” he says to no one in particular. “My men will join you, General. I trust you will make sure she does not run.”

The snarl is audible in his voice, though his face remains handsome, smooth.

“She is very clever. But cleverness is not strength.”

No one speaks. Not you. Not Nanami. And still, the Emperor goes on.

“I have let you grow too visible,” he says to you. “Too favored. You speak too well. Stand too tall. The people whisper your name as if you were some kind of answer.”

His eyes narrow. “You are not an answer. You are an inconvenience. A girl born where a son should have been. And soon, you will be gone. At least then you will be useful.”

The words ring like the toll of a distant bell.

You incline your head, your voice even. “Then may your throne comfort you in my absence.”

Your words land like snowfall–soft but cold. Final.

Nanami steps forward before the other guards do. You do not meet his eyes. Not yet. But your silence toward him is a wound deeper than any blade could give.

He follows you as you walk out of the hall, the Emperor’s gaze heavy on his back. His fingers brush the hilt of his sheathed sword one more time before he leaves.

It is not a threat. It is a promise.

The quiet that stretches in the corridor as you walk is unbearable. Nanami cannot breathe without hearing the echo of your name in his thoughts. He is at war with everything inside himself. He has been for a while.

He has been taught that to serve the throne is to serve the Empire. But the throne is corrupt. The throne has vowed to cage you. And in this palace of gold and blood, of ichor–he has found the only thing still worth protecting.

Not out of duty or command, but because you have become his compass. His clarity.

And tomorrow, they will try to take you from him.

He does not know how yet. But he will not let them.

EASTERN WING – THE PRINCESS’ QUARTERS

The corridor feels narrower than it should.

Not physically–its arches still soar overhead, the intricate latticework still glimmer in the dim lantern light–but the space between Nanami and you is too charged, too full. The silence between you is anything but empty.

It is brimming.

Brimming with all the things neither of you can say aloud. With the weight of betrayal, and the crack of bone, and the blood you did not wipe from your mouth.

You walk in tandem with him, but not together. You are a pace ahead of him, your hands clasped before you, sleeves hiding the tension in your fingers. Your shoulders do not slump, but they are too tight, too straight–as if the sheer act of holding yourself upright is now a war against gravity.

Nanami’s breath comes shallow. He knows the other guards follow at a distance. Knows they watch you. Listen. Wait for something to use. Something scandalous to report.

So when he speaks, it is soft. Like wind through stone.

“Princess–”

“Don’t.”

The word is a blade, and it cuts cleanly.

You don’t look at him. You keep walking, your steps too soft, too composed. The sound of your silk slippers on the polished floor is the only thing marking time.

But when you pass through the shadow of a carved arch, you slow. Just enough. Then stop.

He halts behind you.

You turn, and your face–god, your face–is unreadable. That same expression you wore when you stood before the throne. The one you wear when you’re bleeding but refuse to be seen.

“Do you want to die, General?”

Your voice is low. Razor-thin. Barely more than a breath.

Nanami flinches, taken aback. “I–”

You step closer. One pace. Another. The guards hang too far behind to hear you now. The corridor narrows down to you and only you.

“You drew steel in front of the Emperor,” you murmur, eyes locked on his. “In front of half the court. In front of the men who have waited for a reason to kill you.”

“I could not watch him strike you.”

“And what then?” Your voice sharpens, still low, but fierce. “You expected to fall in glory? To be cut down for honor? Do you think that would’ve made it better? Do you think I would have stood there, watching your blood coat that floor, and felt vindicated?”

“I didn’t think,” he says quietly.

“No,” you say. “You didn’t.”

Your hands curl slightly at your sides. Your nails bite into your palms. Still, you hold your voice steady.

“I don’t know why you did it. I don’t know if it was guilt or pride or something else,” you say. “But don’t pretend it was for me. Because you weren’t at my side when it mattered.”

Your words are meant to slice into him, and this time they cut deep.

“I stood behind you–”

“Exactly,” you snap. “Behind. Watching. Always watching. Never stepping forward. Until today. When it was too late.”

Nanami’s mouth opens. But there is nothing he can say that won’t break something more.

You exhale, slower now. Your gaze drops–not to retreat, but to gather yourself. To hold together whatever is threatening to fray.

“Do you think dying for me proves something?” you ask. “It proves nothing. It’s easy. It’s clean. It means you don’t have to live with what you’ve done.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. His hands are trembling, but he refuses to let them show.

“I didn’t want to see him strike you like that.”

“And I didn’t want to see you draw your sword like a fool,” you say, voice cracking–just once. “Because if he had given the order, you would have been gone. Gone. And for what?”

You shake your head, stepping back now, breath shaky.

“You are not allowed to break now,” you say, stern. “You do not get to fall on your sword to make yourself clean.”

Nanami lowers his head. “I would have stopped him. I will next time.”

“You won’t,” you reply. “Because next time, you’ll be dead. And then I’ll have to watch them drag your body away and call it justice while they sell me to the north.”

He meets your eyes again, and you look at him like you’ve already seen it. Like it’s prophecy. Like you’ve lived through it a thousand times in your mind. Like his death is a future you’re trying to outrun.

You are near the eastern wing.

You slow again. The light from beyond your door spills across the floor like water, casting your shadow long and thin behind you. You turn to him once more.

Something in your gaze flickers. Just briefly.

“I don’t want to care,” you whisper. “But god help me, I do, even if you don’t deserve it.”

His heart twists. You don’t wait for him to speak.

“Return to your post.”

Dismissal. Sharp. Formal. A blow he cannot deflect.

He bows. Not out of duty. Out of grief.

You disappear behind the lacquered doors, and they close without a sound. Nanami is left outside in the hallway, a sword unsheathed in every way that matters.

EASTERN WING – 清月楼 (THE TOWER OF THE CLEAR MOON)

The hallway empties. The world narrows. The Emperor’s loyalist guards take their places at your door, casting Nanami looks of disgust. He does not pay them any mind.

Nanami remains standing outside your door long after the light behind it dims.

He does not return to his quarters. He does not return to the barracks. He moves only when a steward passes, bowing low, and murmurs something about the Emperor’s next directive.

Nanami does not hear him.

His feet carry him somewhere else. Somewhere private. Somewhere away from the ever-listening ears of the palace.

He finds himself in the inner cloister–one of the old watch towers, long disused, quiet except for the wind that threads through the latticed screens. The sky outside is black and heavy, thick with stars that do not blink.

Only then does he breathe. And when he breathes, it hurts.

Because he is filled to the breaking point. With silence. With guilt. With love.

He sinks onto the stone bench beneath the carved window and presses both gloved hands against his knees, trying to contain it. But it spills through him like smoke. Hot and slow.

He thinks of you.

The way you always stand with your hands folded, but never still. How your fingers press faintly against your sleeve hem, like you’re keeping yourself from holding a blade. The way you paused before you speak–as if weighing your words against the cost of saying them.

He remembers the way you smiled–once, barely–and how it felt like watching a flower bloom in frost.

You have never asked him for kindness. You have never demanded loyalty. You have never tried to make him anything more than what he was assigned to be.

And still, you became everything.

The cause he never meant to follow. The crown he would kneel for. The only thing in the Empire worth bleeding for.

He cannot let them sell you. He cannot watch you be led down an aisle to a man who sees you only as a conquest–something to claim, to display, to use.

You are not a treaty. You are not a coin to be traded. You are not something he can stand by and lose.

Not anymore.

If you will not let him die for you–

Then he will make someone else bleed.

His jaw tightens. His hands flex at his knees. Slow. Deliberate. The gloves creak under the strain.

He thinks of the Emperor’s hand across your face. The blood on your lip. The sound of it.

He sees your eyes, too steady, too calm. Your hand, when you told him to stop.

He did stop. But he won’t again.

Not when you are marched to your cage. Not when they chain you with gold and call it fate.

He will not stand in the hall while you are dressed for ruin. He will not hold his silence while they lock you away in another man’s kingdom. He will not live behind orders and pretend that his armor is enough to keep you safe.

Because it isn’t. You aren’t safe. Not anymore.

The next time someone raises a hand to you–

He will not hesitate. He will not draw halfway. He will finish it.

And if the crown must fall for it to happen, then so be it.

His loyalty has not changed. He still serves the Empire. But the Empire lives in you now. And you are worth every sin he is about to commit.

EASTERN WING – THE PRINCESS’ QUARTERS

The palace does not yet know what has happened.

But the silence has already begun to shift.

Nanami moves through the eastern halls like a shadow torn from its source. Not the obedient silhouette he once was–but something entirely different now. Something much darker. More dangerous. The guards who remain in the distance do not approach him. Perhaps they sense the shift. Perhaps they know.

Perhaps the blood speaks louder than armor.

His hands are shaking. Not from fear.

The trembling comes from within–from the place where everything once anchored him. Duty. Order. Discipline. All broken now, shattered at the foot of a throne that deserved nothing of his loyalty.

He doesn’t remember drawing his sword. Only the weight of it leaving its sheath. The finality of steel meeting flesh. The cries that followed–some sharp, others stunned. The sound of his heartbeat rushing louder than any bell. And then the silence.

That ringing, cavernous silence.

It still echoes now, beneath his ribs.

The eastern wing stretches before him, dimly lit, half-wrapped in shadows. A hush hangs thick across the corridor, clinging to the lacquered columns, to the flicking golden sconces that gutter and spit but do not go out. The breath of a place on the edge of knowing.

You are near.

Your chambers stand at the very end. The carved ashwood doors, the inlaid blossoms, the slight gleam of pearl catching the firelight.

Two men wait here. The Emperor’s men.

They catch sight of him and draw their weapons.

A beat.

They do not wait anymore.

One lies crumpled near the far pillar. The other slumped against the inner wall. Neither had time to cry out. Neither deserved the privilege.

Nanami steps over the blood they left behind, not quickly, not quietly–but with all the weight of what he has become. His boots leave prints across the stone. His armor glints red.

He does not hesitate now. He lifts his hand and knocks once.

Not soft. Not tentative. A single, deliberate strike. A herald of the storm already passed.

He waits. One minute, then another.

There is movement on the other side. Not hurried, but purposeful. You do not hide your steps.

The door opens.

You appear in the threshold like the ghost of a god, your silhouette backlit by the lantern’s golden glow. Your robe is plain, your hair undone save for a silver pin holding one coil in place. The braid down your back sways slightly as you still.

You look at him.

And the breath leaves your lungs–he sees it. Sees the way it hitches, just slightly. The way your gaze flicks from his eyes to his chest to the blood on his gloves. Then back again.

Your expression does not crumble. You are too strong for that. But it shifts. Faint.

You do not ask what happened. Because you know.

Nanami bows his head–not fully. Just enough.

“I had no orders to give me purpose,” he says, voice rough. “Only a vow I never made aloud.”

You do not move. Not away. Not forward.

But you don’t close the door.

The lantern light touches one side of your face, carving gold along the ridge of your cheek, along the hollow of your throat. Your lips part, then press together again. Whatever words you might have summoned vanish before they reach the air.

Nanami stands there, every inch of him soaked in consequence, and waits. Not because he expects forgiveness. Not because he believes he’s earned a place inside.

But because he has nowhere else left to go.

His empire lies dead at his feet. And you are the only sovereign left in his world.

You do not move for a long moment. You just stand there in the doorway, the light brushing against your skin like gold leaf, your shadow falling long behind you.

Then your eyes flicker. Past him. To the left. To the right.

To the two bodies at your threshold.

There is no cry. Your breath does not quicken. But Nanami sees the way your shoulders rise–sharp, held–and stay there.

Your voice is even. Low.

“Come inside.”

He obeys.

You step aside. He crosses the threshold, and you close the door behind him. The latch slides home with a soft metallic click, and the sound feels louder than thunder.

Your chambers are dim, the lanterns turned low. Shadows curl in the corners. The scent of sandalwood has steeped into the silk hangings, the floor mats, the sleeves of your robe. He catches it even through the blood.

You turn to face him fully.

“You killed them.”

Your voice is not uncertain. Not a question. It’s a confirmation of what you already know.

He nods. “They were not yours. They watched you like a prisoner. Like something to be monitored, not protected. I knew from the start.”

You watch him. He notes the minute shift in your expression–not shock, not fear, but understanding laced with something else.

Disapproval. Not of what he did. But that he did it for you.

He speaks before you can ask.

“It wasn’t just you.”

You blink, lips parting.

“It wasn't only for you that I did it.”

He sees the tension ripple through you, the breath you hold.

“I watched the Emperor become a man who ruled from fear. And I watched your brother–my Emperor–become worse. Not even cruel, but careless. Arrogant. Hollow. He inherited everything and understood nothing. And I knew, if he ruled a decade longer, there would be nothing left worth serving.”

His voice breaks, just slightly. He doesn’t care.

“He was already building a cage. For the people. For the court. For you. I saw it. The Empire was never going to survive under him. Only rot.”

You don’t look away, but something falters in your eyes. He sees it–clear as glass.

Grief.

“You mourn him.”

“I mourn the boy he was,” you correct softly. “The one who held my hand as a child. The one who protected me from shadows in the corridors. I don’t mourn the man he became. But I hate that I can’t separate the two.”

Your voice turns brittle. “You took him from me, Kento. And he had already been gone for years.”

Nanami lowers his eyes. For a long time, he says nothing, though the blood roars in his ears and he can’t seem to see anything past your face.

Then, he asks, “Do you blame me?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know.”

He swallows.

“They made you a prisoner,” he says. “They wrapped you in silk and called it dignity. They sent men to your door like dogs to bark at your every step. And I–”

His voice cracks open, as does his chest.

“I stood by. I told myself it was for your safety. That silence was the same as protection.”

He steps forward. “I watched the guards they placed at your door. Their eyes. Their mouths. They looked at you like you were already sold.”

He closes the distance. “And I hated that I let them.”

Your breath stirs. Not with fear. Something else.

“Kento…”

“I lost everything when I swore myself to the Empire. And still, I served. Because I thought it meant something. Because I believed it would protect the good.”

“And now?”

He meets your gaze head on.

“Now I know what I serve.”

A long silence.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” you ask quietly. “Because of what he was becoming.”

“Yes.”

“And because of me.”

“Yes.”

You look away. Your posture shifts–not relaxing, but softening in the smallest way. Your voice, when it returns, is quieter than before.

“I still hate that it was you.”

“I hate that I waited this long.”

The room is too muted. Too fragile.

When you speak again, it’s barely audible, a whisper.

“You are dangerous when you feel.”

“And I have never felt more in my life.”

You don’t step closer. You don’t retreat either. You stare at him, brows furrowed every so slightly, lips pursed tightly. Your posture is still guarded, but not completely closed off.

And then, softly:

“Take off your armor.”

He freezes.

“Before it rusts into your bones,” you add, wringing your hands. “And before you forget what it feels like to stand in your own skin.”

He obeys. Not like a soldier. But like a man.

For you.

You watch him. Not as a princess watches a soldier, but as a woman watches a man she has not decided how to forgive.

Nanami stands in the center of your chambers, half-shadowed, half-lit by the gold glow of the lanterns. His armor is marred, dented and misaligned, the steel breastplate smeared in streaks of dried blood that he has not yet noticed. The right clasp is broken, the edge of one pauldron missing a notch where steel met steel in a clash no one witnessed but him.

He has not cleaned himself. Has not even sat. He is breathing too quietly. His silence is not composed–it is held. Like a door barred against collapse.

His hands move.

He reaches for the first clasp at his shoulder, trying to undo it himself. The motion pulls across his ribs, across the wound still hidden beneath layers of steel and cloth–and he winces.

It’s small. Controlled. But you see it.

You cross to him not with hesitation, but with weight. Your footsteps are soft, though not cautious. Measured. Your robe drifts around your ankles as you stop before him, and for a moment, neither of you move.

Then, with a movement so gentle it could be mistaken for ritual, you lift your hand.

He does not flinch.

Your fingers touch the ruined clasp at his collarbone. The metal is stubborn, catching beneath your touch, but you coax it free. The pauldron slips from his shoulder and falls to the mat with a muted thud.

Your fingertips brush his skin. Barely. But it is deliberate.

It is the first time you’ve touched without circumstance or violence or accident. And it freezes him in place.

He closes his eyes for one breath. And speaks.

“I never thought it would come to this.”

You say nothing. So he continues.

“I’ve obeyed for years. Not because I believed in them, but because I didn’t know there was another way. Because I thought being useful was enough. With you, I thought that keeping you close was enough. That protection was the same thing as freedom.”

Your hands still. One rests on the next buckle, the one over his chest.

“I was wrong,” he says. His voice is rough. “I was wrong to follow. To wait. To think I could serve both the Empire and its prisoner.”

You look up at him. Your eyes lock. He has never seen you so close and so unreadable. The curve of your mouth does not soften. But your hand moves.

The next piece of armor unhooks. It falls.

He breathes deeper, but the weight of his chestplate gone does not make him lighter. It only bares more.

Your gaze drifts downward. Not with lust. Not with judgement. But with understanding.

You see the blood-stained fabric clinging to his ribs.

“I didn’t think he’d fight,” Nanami says quietly, knowing you will ask him how this happened. “But he did.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It is nothing.”

“No wound drawn from hate is nothing.”

You bend slightly, pulling the hem of his undershirt up to see it. The cut is clean, shallow, but angry. Red threads the skin just beneath his ribs.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Your fingers trace the line of bruised skin just beside the wound, gentle and quiet. He watches the motion as if it belongs to someone else. He’s bled for kings. He’s limped beneath banners. He’s never been seen like this.

“You’ve never spoken like this before,” you say finally.

“I was never allowed to.”

“And now?”

His voice drops. “I don’t care what I’m allowed.”

You look up again. There is something unsaid behind your eyes–something much softer than what you usually allow.

“What do you want to say?”

“I would give everything I’ve ever learned to walk beside you without a title between us.”

The words fall between you like arrows raining from the sky.

Your hand still rests at his side. You can feel the tremor beneath his skin, the way he barely breathes. It is not pain. Not fear.

It is restraint.

You lift yourself to your feet slowly. You are close now. Too close for decorum. Not close enough for forgiveness. But closer than you’ve ever been with him.

You touch the clasp at his throat–the last piece.

Your fingers undo it. The collar falls.

He stands before you without armor, without mask. Only the black cloth of his underlayer remains, clinging to him in the dim lantern glow.

And still you haven’t stepped away. Still, you haven’t spoken the word he wants, the word he doesn’t dare ask for.

But you ask something else.

“Will you stay standing,” you say, “if I don’t push you away?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“Good.”

Because you don’t want something unmovable. You want something real.

He has never felt more real than this.

Nanami sits at the low table now, stripped of armor, stripped of pretense, stripped of everything but the black undershirt clinging to his skin and the blood crusting against his ribs. The wound is not deep, but it speaks of struggle. Of resistance. Of finality.

You kneel beside him.

You’ve brought water in a porcelain bowl, a cloth soaked through. There were no attendants summoned, no servants dared intrude. No one came when steel rang in the corridor, and no one will come now.

You work in silence, bent over him, the golden light of your chambers gliding the edges of your face, your lashes casting long shadows down your cheeks. Your hand presses the cloth to his side, firm but careful. The blood seeps into it, and then into your sleeve, painting the pale gray silk with slow, widening stains.

Nanami stares at it.

Your robe is expensive. Immaculate. Now it is ruined. Marked by his choices. Marked by his blood.

“I can do it myself,” he says, voice low, roughened by exhaustion and guilt.

“You didn’t,” you reply. “So I will.”

Your voice holds no softness. But it isn’t cold. Just quiet. Measured.

Your fingers are steady. You dab the cut with the care of someone who has had to learn gentleness in a world that punishes it. Your eyes remain downcast, but your mouth is tight. Drawn with something you will not name.

He watches you in silence. Every breath. Every deliberate motion. The way your hands move as if they’ve done this before–not for him, never for him–but perhaps for yourself. For wounds no one ever saw.

You change the cloth once, ringing out blood-dark water into the bowl. It swirls, crimson staining the surface like ink across parchment.

When you speak again, your voice is sharper, but no louder.

“I hated you.”

The words cleave clean through him.

“I hated that I trusted you. That I let you near. That I thought you–” You break off. Dab the wound again. Sigh.

“I told myself you were nothing but a weapon. But even weapons don’t choose where they aim. You did.”

He exhales through his nose. Not defense. Not shame.

“I did.”

“You were placed at my side to restrain me. To silence me. And still, I trusted you.”

You lift your gaze, and it is like frost in full bloom. “You stood there while they planned to marry me off like cattle. While they buried my voice under titles and veils.”

He doesn’t flinch. He deserves every word. Every edge.

“I told myself that perhaps you couldn’t choose. But I see now–you could’ve. And you didn’t.”

You press the cloth harder. He winces, but says nothing.

“And then–when you finally did choose–you chose violence. Chaos. Murder.”

Your voice does not rise. It doesn’t need to.

“You did it for me,” you say. “That is the cruelty of it. You killed a man for me. Not because I asked you to. But because you couldn’t bear to lose the illusion that you were doing something good.”

The cloth in your hands stills.

“But this,” you murmur, “this mess, this blood on my floor, these stains on my sleeve–it was never your burden to make right.”

Nanami’s breath is slow. Controlled. But it is cracking at the edges.

“I know,” he says, finally. “I know that I failed you before I ever protected you. But I couldn’t let him touch you again. I couldn’t let you be sold. I couldn’t stand in silence while they turned you into something ornamental.”

“You should’ve spoken sooner.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“Then learn,” you snap.

A pause. Then softer:

“Learn, Kento.”

The way you say his name–his given name–is both an indictment and a mercy. You haven’t called him that since before you learned the truth.

He nods slowly. His voice is thick. “I’m trying.”

You lean forward to dip the cloth again. Your sleeve brushes his arm, damp and stained.

“You bleed easily,” you say, almost idly. But there’s weight in the words.

His mouth curves–barely. “Only for you.”

You do not smile, but your breath catches.

The both of you sit still like that for a long moment–you bent over him, blood and water between, your fingers pressed to his side.

You break the silence, quiet.

“You want me to forgive you.”

“I don’t expect it.”

“You want me to want you.”

“I do.”

You meet his eyes. Something he can’t read flickers behind yours.

“And if I never forgive you?”

“I’ll still be yours.”

You exhale slowly, like a weight has shifted but not yet lifted. “You’re dangerous when you speak.”

“I’m worse when I don’t.”

You tilt your head. “You always speak in absolutes now. Was it the blood that made you bold?”

“No,” he says. “It was losing you.”

Your hand tightens on the cloth. Your jaw flexes.

He wants to reach for you. God, he wants to. To touch your face. To kneel before you and tell you the truth he’s only just allowed himself to feel.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he waits. Because you are not a reward for his pain. You are not his redemption. You are his axis. His vow. The only truth he has ever chosen freely.

And if you do not send him away–if you stay–then perhaps this time, he will have something to offer that is not ruin.

The water in the bowl has gone dark now–opaque and rust-colored, stilling with the weight of blood and silence. You set the cloth aside at last, your fingers steady even as crimson blooms down your sleeve and across your wrist. Your touch lingers only a moment longer at his side, wrapping the linen tightly, a final, precise knot.

You do not look up immediately, but when you do, it is with eyes that see right through him.

Nanami shifts slightly, his back straightening, muscles pulling taut beneath the black fabric. He should speak. Should thank you. Should beg for forgiveness again. But when he opens his mouth, what escapes is something else entirely.

“How are you so calm?” he asks. “There are bodies in the hall. Your brother is dead.”

You still, and for a heartbeat, you say nothing. Your gaze lowers.

“Because I mourned him long before tonight.”

The words are not cruel, but they cut.

Nanami watches you carefully, the lamplight playing across your cheekbones, the quiet grief tucked behind your lashes. You stand then, slowly, rising in a fluid motion that makes you seem carved from something older than flesh. You wipe your hand with a clean cloth–blood still smudged on your robe, soaked into your skin.

“He was my brother, yes,” you say, voice low. “But he was not kind. Not anymore.”

Nanami says nothing. He listens.

“I remember the boy who used to chase fireflies,” you continue. “The boy who made up songs to mock the tutors. I remember the prince who kissed our mother’s hand each night like she were made of stars.”

Your gaze lifts, sharp again.

“That boy died a long time ago. What stood in his place was something else, and while I hate that I cannot tell them apart, I know he would have destroyed everything, as you said.”

You step closer.

“And yet” you murmur, eyes narrowing, “you still ask me how I can be calm.”

Nanami meets your stare, breath catching. “You’ve always been calm. Even when they called you cold.”

You tilt your head. “And what do you call me, General?”

His voice is quiet. “Unbroken.”

A shadow crosses your face. It is not a smile. It is too old for that. Something bone-deep. Something worn down to the sinew.

“You want me to grieve for him,” you say. “But I’m not sure which death you mean–his tonight, or the one I’ve carried since I was thirteen.”

Nanami stands now, slowly, gingerly. The linen at his side tugs. He does not wince. His gaze remains fixed on you.

“You scare me,” he admits.

You arch a brow. “Because I don’t weep?”

“No,” he says. “Because you know how to carry your own wounds, and still choose to bind mine.”

You look away, a breath escaping you. A soft scoff. But it isn’t full of venom. Only tiredness.

“I’m not some mythic thing, General. I’m not steel or fire or prophecy. I’m just a woman who has run out of time.”

He steps forward. “So have I.”

You don’t retreat. But your arms cross. “I should still hate you.”

“I know.”

“You betrayed me.”

“I know.”

“You let them use me like a pawn. Let them parade me. Silence me.”

“Yes.”

“And yet here you are. Bleeding on my floor like some tragic poem.”

“I never meant for you to bleed, too.”

You breathe, sharp. “You didn’t think I would?”

“No,” he says. “I just thought I could bear it alone.”

You study him. Then you laugh. It’s dry. Quiet. Bitter. Not cruel. Not quite.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper.

“Yes.”

You are inches apart from each other now. The scent of blood still clings to his shirt, and the smoke of extinguished lanterns curls faintly through the air between you both.

Your arms drop to your sides. Your hand is still stained. Still trembling.

“You would’ve died for me.”

He nods.

“And yet you live.”

“Because you stopped me.”

A breath passes. The world feels suspended. Then, you reach out–fingers grazing his jaw. Not a caress. A test. And he does not flinch.

“I don’t want your death,” you say.

He leans forward, just enough that your foreheads almost touch.

“Then take what’s left,” he murmurs. “It was always yours.”

You exhale, lashes fluttering. The silence between the both of you grows heavy, thick. Like the moment before a storm.

“I’m not done being angry with you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to be done.”

“I should send you away.”

“You should.”

“I should tell you this means nothing.”

“Then lie to me.”

You close your eyes. He doesn’t move.

You stand there, heart hammering beneath ruined silk, his blood staining your sleeves. Your hands trembling where they hover–between fury and forgiveness. And he waits. He has always waited. But this time–he will not wait alone.

Your hand hovers at his jaw–no longer testing, no longer trembling. It rests there now, gently, like the first brush of spring against frostbitten earth. Nanami hold still beneath it, not daring to breathe.

The blood is drying on his skin. The linen at his side itches. But none of it matters. None of it exists in this moment except for you.

“You’re a fool,” you murmur again, quieter this time. Less a scold, more a wound you touch with your tongue. “A stubborn, bleeding, loyal fool.”

He doesn’t smile. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. His throat is too tight. His heart too loud.

“I know,” he whispers, voice almost hoarse.

And then–you close the distance.

Your lips brush his.

It is not a kiss, not at first. It is a breath shared. A question asked without words. A trembling of opposites trying to find the same rhythm.

Your mouth is soft and cold from restraint, his warm from blood and heat. You lean in fully only after a heartbeat, pressing into him with terrifying certainty, and Nanami–

Nanami breathes in through his nose and lets out the smallest sound. A low, aching sigh. Like the end of a prayer.

His hands find your waist–not grasping, not pulling. Just anchoring. Just holding. His other hovers for a moment near your shoulder, then rises to cradle the back of your head. Fingers threading through the strands of your hair, feeling the way it is braided loosely and the strands coming undone.

You kiss like someone who has memorized silence, but has never forgotten fire. And he receives it like a man made of nothing but drought.

When you pull apart, it is slow. Reluctant.

Your foreheads rest together, breathing uneven. His hand is still at your waist. Yours still cradles his jaw. Neither of you are untangled.

You close your eyes. He watches you, breath hot between you both.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He does not hesitate. “Only that it took this long.”

You laugh. Just once. Just a breath of sound. His heart squeezes.

“You’ll ruin me,” you whisper.

“I already have,” he answers.

And then you kiss him again.

This one is not careful. It is neither a question nor a breath. It is a storm breaking.

Your fingers clutch at his undershirt. His hand slides higher along your spine. Your mouths part and meet again, hungrier now, sharper.

He groans, barely audible, swallowed between you both. You taste like fury and blood and something precious he’s never earned.

It is not elegant. It is not quiet. It is fevered, desperate, reverent.

You bite his lip. He grips you tighter.

There are no words now. Only breath. Only hands. Only the sound of silk shifting, armor forgotten in the corner, blood drying on marble.

Neither of you are cautious anymore. Not two figures walking along the edge of a blade. You are already falling. Together.

The breath hangs between you both, shallow and warm. Your fingers, still curled around the front of his shirt, loosen–but do not fall away. His own hand rests at your back, steady as stone, though his heartbeat pounds like thunder in a distant canyon.

Nanami draws in a quiet breath through his nose. Tries to center himself. Tries to remember who he is.

But your mouth is still wet from his. Your body is still pressed close. And your eyes, when they meet his again, are dark with something that looks a little like grief and a little like surrender.

You step back, slow, reluctant, and his hand slides away from your waist with a friction that makes his stomach ache.

“You should rest,” you say.

Your voice is composed again, but softer now. Not cold. And not distant.

“I’ll return to my quarters,” he starts, reflexively.

You cut him off with a glance sharp enough to cleave bone. “You are not going back to the barracks.”

His brows knit. “Princess–”

“No.” Your voice is firmer now. “You’ve killed the Emperor. You’re covered in blood. There are eyes in every shadow, and the only reason you are still breathing is because no one has yet realized what you’ve done. If you walk the halls now, you will not make it to the war pavilion.”

He lowers his gaze. He knows you’re right. But shame curls in his chest all the same.

Your steps retreat from him slightly, and you move toward the side table. You lift another cloth–dampened now with clean water–and turn back to him.

“Sit,” you order gently.

He doesn’t move.

“Sit, General.”

The old title. But now it doesn’t sound like a command. It sounds like a comfort.

He lowers himself onto the edge of your bed. His legs ache. His side burns. The linen at his ribs pull against the wound, and he exhales through gritted teeth.

You kneel in front of him, the hem of your robe spilling like smoke against the polished stone. Your hands rise again–fingers careful, cloth precise.

You wipe the dried blood from his temple. From his jaw. From beneath his ear. Your touch is firm, not tender, but he feels each pass of the cloth like a benediction.

“There is more,” you say, voice quieter now. “Behind your ear. And your neck.”

He tilts his head slightly, allowing you better access. The room is so quiet now, he can hear the faint rasp of your breath. The cloth is warm against his skin. Your fingers tremble only once.

You straighten again, your face closer now. Lantern light flickers behind you. It casts gold across your lashes, firelight threading through your hair.

He watches you, barely breathing.

“You’re going to lie down,” you say, “and you’re going to sleep. And in the morning–”

You hesitate.

“In the morning, I don’t know what will come. But you’ll face it rested. Not broken.”

He shakes his head. “I should stand guard.”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t deserve your kindness.”

You sigh. “It’s not kindness.”

He looks at you. You touch his cheek once more, brushing away a final smear of red.

“It’s what I want.”

He cannot speak.

You turn then, stepping around the room. One by one, you move to each lantern, blowing them out slowly. The light dims with each breath, until only the warm flicker of a single taper remains.

He watches your silhouette cross the room. You return to him at last and rest your hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Lie back.”

He does.

The mattress is soft beneath him. His back sinks into it slowly. It smells like you–faint rosewater, old paper, the iron tinge of ink and memory.

You climb in beside him. The movement is not rushed. It is not shy. It is not fearful.

You lie on your side, facing him. Your fingers drift across his arm, across the linen binding his side, then up toward his throat. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

He reaches for you then, and you come easily. Your head rests against his shoulder, one leg draped carefully over his. He wraps his arm around your waist, the other around your shoulders. His fingers splay across your back like armor he cannot bear to wear anymore.

There is nothing between you now but breath. Heartbeat. Skin. Trust, raw and wounded and remade.

You are not speaking. But you are here. And so is he.

His lips press to the top of your head. A touch, nothing more. His eyes close.

He was forged to be a weapon. And tonight, he has laid down every piece of steel.

Not for peace. But for you.

Outside, the halls of the palace shift and turn like tides beneath a blood-colored moon. The Empire spins forward toward a dawn that will not recognize the night that came before.

But here, in the silence of a room scented with lavender and blood, beneath silken sheets and whispered breath–

You hold him. And he, for the first time in his life, allows himself to be held.

Not as a sword. Not as a shadow. But as a man.

A/N: so i am late but i hope you enjoy this chapter because they are my roman empire fr @gojover will agree (art by ykRRR23 on X)

[heyybaejjk]

Giving the nerd a chance

tags: nerd!nanami/fem!reader, college!au, stsg, nsfw, dirty talk, asphyxiation, size kink, mdni!!

a/n: this one’s a long one :) pace yourself and enjoy!

Kento Nanami is a social enigma. He is a total outlier but in the weirdest way possible.

This man is conventionally attractive. Some would even go as far to say Nanami’s handsome, almost in a filthy way. His looks are sneaky too. He’s not someone you’d immediately notice in a room, but once you did…

You would notice his sculpted jaw line first. Then, his naturally high cheekbones that gave way to his soft hazel eyes. He had a serious look on his face always, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe you’d notice his blonde hair that sat neatly on his head, styled with an undercut. Yeah, Nanami was fucking hot.

But that’s not the weird part. No, you haven’t heard him utter a single word except to answer the professor’s unanswered questions once the silence was unbearable.

That’s not exactly weird either. There are tons of people who go through college without the intention of making friends… but Nanami has friends. He doesn’t just have like one friend. No, he’s apart of a friend group.

The weirdest part was he seemed to be close with the most popular guy in your university, star quarterback Satoru Gojo. Gojo was seemingly every college girl’s wet dream. He’s the type to stand out in a room. His looks and personality demand attention.

He’s the complete opposite from Nanami.

Then, there was Suguru Geto… Geto was also a strange friend for Nanami to have. Geto was smart, funny, and well-mannered… when he was in class. But you’ve seen how Geto acts at parties. He smokes cigarettes, shotguns whiskey, and keeps up with all of Gojo’s antics. Shoko was the exact same way, except she didn’t care enough to keep up with Gojo’s buffoonery.

They were the complete opposite from Nanami as well.

Yu Haibara was a cutie patootie. He’s also a sweet social butterfly. Another one of Nanami’s friends that just didn’t seem to be his type.

You caught yourself staring at the friend group as you’re sitting on a couch at a frat house. Your college team just won the game, so Satoru had invited a whole slew of people over. You somehow made it on that list. Your friend, Utahime, is begging you to leave, but something is telling you to stay.

“Go on without me, Uta. I’ll be fine, promise.” You say over the music as you flash her a small smile to assure her.

“I really, really, really don’t want to leave you here alone, yn. I don’t want you to end up on the front page of the news.”

“Don’t wish that shit upon me.” You laugh as you gently nudge her arm, urging her towards the door.

“I’m serious, yn. Please text me. If you’re not back in the dorm by midnight, I’m calling the cops.” She says as she grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face her directly.

You admire your friend’s caring demeanor, but she was being a total cock block for you right now.

“I will text you. I promise.” You assure her once again. “Go back to the dorm. Love you.”

She sighs deeply as she lets you go. She’s still not comfortable with the idea of leaving you here, but she can’t force you to leave. “Love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do.” You smirk as she flips you off and leaves the frat house.

You take a drink from your red solo cup to gather your nerves. Nanami has been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all night. He’s alone, but he doesn’t look lonely. Sometimes, Satoru will drunkenly slouch his weight onto the blonde and slur something inaudible to him. From what you can see, Nanami just rolls his eyes and shrugs his friend off his shoulders.

You want to approach him, but you’re still too afraid he won’t talk to you. As you sit down your cup, an intoxicated Satoru is standing over you.

“I’m sorry- I don’t remember your name.” He gives you a slanted smile as he crouches down a bit so you two are face-to-face.

“That’s okay. I don’t remember yours either.” You snip back with a small grin. Something sparkles in his eyes as you give him a little bit of a challenge. He finds it to be endearing.

“Cheeky. Give me your number.” He demands, keeping his smirk on his face.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Because it’s not for me.” He slurs as he leans in close to you. He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m doing this for my pussy friend over there.”

Your eyes dart towards Nanami. His eyes are glaring holes into Satoru with more anger and emotion than you’ve ever seen from him. Your stomach swirls with butterflies.

“That is a really good reason.” You murmur as you quickly type your number into Satoru’s phone.

*** *** ***

It had been days since the frat party and not a single word from Nanami. Your excitement had honestly fizzled out into sulking. Were you not good enough for him? Did Satoru lie? Was it all a sick prank?

Not even Utahime could get you in a good mood.

“Yn. This is so ridiculous. If you like him that much, just go up and talk to him.” She chides

“Noooo.” You groan into your pillow as you turn onto your stomach in your bed. “He’s too cool. Out of my league.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Kento Nanami? The nerd who barely ever talks? The know-it-all in class?”

“Utahimeee.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let me wallow in my self pity.” You gripe before you hear your phone buzz. The sound of your phone notifying you doesn’t even excite you anymore. It’s always some lame ass notification.

Unknown Number: Is this yn?

Your eyes widen as you stare at your phone in disbelief. Your body involuntarily sits up in bed, startling Utahime.

“Jesus Christ. What? What happened?”

“He texted me!” You beam proudly. You are embarrassing. Utahime scoffs and walks away from you, unable to take the second-hand embarrassment.

Yn: Yeah, that’s me :)

Unknown Number: This is Kento Nanami. I’m sorry Gojo felt the need to disturb you at the party. 

Yn: No need! He didn’t disturb me too much.

Nanami: That’s good to hear.

God. Now, what do you say? Of course Nanami is a dry texter. You stare at the text conversation for a while, trying to think of something.. anything to break the ice.

Yn: Did you ask him to get my number, or did he do that on his own volition?

Nanami: Gojo does things on his own volition.

Yn: Ah.. I see.

He left you on read.

Goddammit.

You had your chance, and now, you blew it. Sighing, you lock your phone and try to forget he even ever texted you in the first place.

*** *** ***

I mean, who even needs Nanami? He’s really not even that handsome or mysterious. You keep telling yourself as you get ready to go to another party Gojo invited you too.

Oh, also, Gojo kept your number for himself as well. He mostly asked to copy your notes when Nanami refused to let him copy his notes. He would also send the occasional invitation to one of his signature parties.

This one was apparently labeled as “exclusive”. You had no idea what that meant, but you weren’t allowed to bring a plus-one this time.

Luckily for you, Utahime was visiting back home for the weekend, so she couldn’t scold you for going out to another party this weekend.

Black eyeliner was smeared across your waterline, and you puckered your lips as you carefully applied some sheer gloss. You decided to be casual with your outfit, wearing a basic off-shoulder black top with some jeans.

As soon as you got to the frat house, you quickly understood what “exclusive” meant. It was only their closest friends in the house. Satoru and Haibara were on the couch, lounging. Suguru and Shoko were sitting by the window, sharing a cigarette. Nanami was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking as stoic as ever. Immediately, you were grateful for going with a more casual look.

“Yn! So glad you made it!” Satoru grinned in a more sober voice than the last time you spoke with him.

“Am I imposing on something?” You ask as you close the door.

“Of course not, silly. I sent you an invite for a reason.” Satoru says casually as he pats the spot between him and Haibara on the couch. “Come have a seat. Get comfortable. We’re just hanging out tonight.”

You stare at the seat between Gojo and Haibara, and you decide to sit in the open chair next to them instead.

“Afraid that we might bite?” Gojo grins as he leans over the arm of the chair towards you.

“Stop it, Satoru. You’re going to scare her away.” Shoko scolds before taking a drag off her cigarette.

Your phone gently buzzes in your pocket as Satoru and Shoko begin to bicker about his social skills. You sneakily check your phone.

Nanami: You look pretty tonight.

OH. We are so back, baby.

Yn: Thank you :) You look as handsome as ever.

Nanami: Oh yeah?

It is so small and insignificant, but that little “oh yeah?” makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

“Yn?” You snap your attention up to Shoko and realize she has been trying to talk to you.

“Shit- sorry. What’s up?”

Your phone lightly buzzes again, and you quickly glance down to check.

Nanami: You’re blushing.

“I was asking what your major is.” Shoko smiles calmly as she’s sat upon the windowsill. She flicks her cigarette outside before blowing out a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore how your heart is skipping beats right now.

“Oh, I’m just in general studies right now. I’m kind of indecisive. What about you?”

“I’m pre-med right now.” Shoko answers.

“I thought you swapped to nursing.” Haibara asks as he shifts his body to face her. The two start conversing together, giving you a chance to check your phone.

Nanami: Are you ill, or do my words just affect you that much?

Yn: I’m actually ill.

Nanami: You’re also apparently a liar, sweetheart.

How the fuck was this man so bold over text, but wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone in person?

Yn: Sweetheart? I didn’t know we were on that sort of level yet.

Nanami: Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yn: No

Nanami: Good. Then don’t complain.

The throb your cunt just did should’ve been illegal. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by that, but you were.

Yn: What would you have done had I said that it did make me uncomfortable?

Nanami: I would’ve found you a nickname you were more comfortable with.

He was being sweet, and you were over there clenching around nothing like a whore.

You had been so caught up in your phone that you didn’t realize Yu had went and gotten everyone a beer out of the fridge. You decide to risk a glance at Nanami. He looked calm and composed. You wondered if he even knew the effect he had on you truly.

“Shoko, when are you finally going to get some bitches?” Satoru asks with a laugh. Your eyes widen as you notice Suguru is on his lap now. You had really been so distracted by your phone…

“At this rate, I think Nanami will beat me.” Shoko laughed as she took a drink of her beer. You shift slightly in your seat as Shoko cuts her eyes towards you with a small grin.

Nanami: I will

Yn: Will what?

Nanami: I will beat her.

Yn: Confident or competitive?

Nanami: Both.

Yn: You didn’t strike me as the type.

Nanami: You don’t think I can do it?

Yn: I never said that.

Nanami lays his phone on his lap, and you can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body. Feeling your heart skip a beat, you decide to look up at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance over him. He looks relaxed. His head is propped up in his hand, and he’s almost giving you a lazy smile.

Knowing more about Nanami, you recognize it as a cocky smile now.

The rest of the “party” goes without a hitch. You decided it was time to leave once Suguru and Satoru were obnoxiously making out, Shoko was asleep on the floor, and Haibara wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the intricacies of anime.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm now. Thanks for inviting me.” You say quickly as you stand from your seat.

“Hey yn-!” Satoru says as he tugs from Suguru’s lips. The dark-haired male made quick work of moving down to his neck. “Thanks for coming. You should come out here more often.”

“Oh um, I’ll think about it.” You smile politely as you head out the front door. The cold night air nips at your skin. The only light was from the moon high up in the sky. The dorms were a few blocks away.

You never like walking alone at night, but you try to remember that college campuses have security patrolling at all times. Taking a deep shaky breath, you step off the porch.

The sound of the door closing again immediately startles you. You quickly flinch and look towards the frat house. Nanami was calming walking up to you.

“Let me walk you back.” His voice was calm and steady, just like his presence. He really wasn’t phased at all by your subtle flirting earlier?

“Thanks.. I was actually kinda scared.” You mumble as you two walk side by side on the pavement. Your arms hug your body, trying to hide from the snippy air.

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to walk you home then?” Nanami asks as he slips his coat off from his shoulders. He then loosely drapes it over your shoulders. You feel your heart skip a beat as you mumble a quick thanks. Your body snuggled into his coat as it swallowed your frame whole. It was the first time you realized… Nanami is a big man. He’s not just some scrawny nerd. He’s actually pretty well built.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You answer quietly, noticing how Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets while you two walk.

“That’s foolish. We invited you. The least we could do is make sure you make it home safely.”

“We?”

Nanami goes silent, and he looks away from your shorter self. The wind blows harshly, making the leaves crinkle and hiss on the trees.

“Yes, we.” He finally answers your question. You smile softly as you look down towards the ground. It seems like Satoru wasn’t the only one who wanted you around.

Standing in front of your dorm door, you slowly slip the coat off from around your shoulders and try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it.” He answers calmly, making no effort to take the jacket back from you.

“It’s yours, silly.”

“And?”

“Take it.” You gestured the coat to him once more

“No, I want you to have it.” He says as he towers over you. You subconsciously take a step back to create space, and your back hits the door. He leans over you, having to angle his back to see eye-to-eye with you. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as he cocks his head towards your ear and neck. “Text me.” He murmurs lowly before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You were left against your door blushing madly as he casually sauntered away.

*** *** ***

You almost think you dreamt that kiss up come Monday morning. You hadn’t texted him all weekend, not even knowing what to say. You felt scared about messing things up and taking his advances the wrong way. He hadn’t reached out to you either.

You were sitting in Neurology, half-ass paying attention as the professor lectured about neuron pruning. Nanami sat a few rows over. He always appeared to he intently listening when you glance over at him. You perk up as you feel your phone buzz on your thigh.

Nanami: You’re not going to do well if you don’t pay attention.

Yn: I could say the same for you.

Nanami: Could you?

Yn: …. point taken

Nanami: You know, you could’ve at least texted me if you didn’t like the kiss.

Yn: Who said I didn’t?

Nanami: So, you disobey my request for fun?

Yn: Disobey is such a strong word. You told me to text you, and I just.. haven’t yet.

Nanami: We’ll come back to the disobedience topic. Why haven’t you texted me “yet”?

Yn: Nervous.

Nanami: You’re adorable. What’s there to be nervous about?

“Can anyone name an example of synaptic pruning?” The professor’s sudden loud voice catches you off guard. You hadn’t been paying attention at all, and you feel your heart start to race at the thought of being randomly called upon.

“Anyone?” The professor asks once again. “Yn-“ She almost says your first name before Nanami interrupts.

“Crown thinning.” He answers the question, saving you from total embarrassment.

“Very good. Thank you, Kento.” The professor praises as she turns back around to start lecturing from the powerpoint again.

Yn: You totally just saved me.

Nanami: Pay better attention.

Yn: Then stop texting me.

Nanami: No.

Nanami: Answer my question. Why were you nervous?

Yn: I just didn’t want to say the wrong things.

Nanami: You’re hopeless.

Yn: You’re starting to sound like Utahime :(

Nanami: Will you coo to me that you love me if I act like her?

You feel your heart start to race as you read his text over and over. He was way more observant than you gave him credit for. You couldn’t even think of a time where you told Uta that you loved her in front of him.

Yn: Is that what you want?

Nanami: That does sound nice. Though, I think I’d rather hear you breathlessly professing your love to me.

oh…

oh.

You sat your phone down. No way were you going to let some simple words over a screen let you get horny in class. You didn’t dare to glance in his direction as you suddenly decided to start paying attention and taking detailed notes on Neurology.

Nanami: You’re blushing again.

Damn him and his observant personality. Damn him and his filthy words that make you squeeze your thighs together to soothe the ache.

Yn: I’m well aware.

Nanami: It’s cute. Makes me want to say more things just to get a reaction out of you.

Yn: Please don’t

Nanami: Why? Scared you might like it?

Nanami: Scared you might like the thought of being beneath me, begging for more?

Jesus. There was no misinterpreting that. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at your phone, rereading his message over and over. It painted a picture in your brain.

Yn: As if you could make me do that.

Nanami: I can, and I will. Come over tonight.

Yn: To the frat house?

Nanami: No, to my room. I’ll tell Haibara to not come back until late.

Yn: That seems rather rude.

Nanami: It’s far better than the treatment you’ll be receiving later.

Your head feels like it’s spinning as the professor dismisses class. The rest of the day drags by painfully slow as you feel every little heartbeat and flutter in your chest. Nanami talked big game for someone who seemed too shy to really speak to you. It made you feel intrigued. How could he be so confident in his ability to make you beg?

You took your time once you were back at your dorm: going through your everything-shower routine. You wanted to make sure that every inch of you was soft and smooth just in case! It’s not like he’s actually going to make you do anything.

Knocking on his door, you feel your stomach churn with anxiety. You two seemed to be doing better at keeping up a conversation, but you were still deathly afraid of that awkward silence sinking in.

The click of the lock gains your attention, and Nanami opens the door for you. “Come in.” He says flatly, moving out of the way of the door so you can squeeze past him. He’s wearing his usual button-up shirt with black slacks on. How does this man even relax?

Of course his room is completely clean. His bed was even made military style for crying out loud. What the fuck does this man know about making women beg?

“Your room is nice.” You compliment, trying not to sound too awkward.

“It’s a room.” He shrugs nonchalantly before his eyes travel your body.

“How did you tell Haibara not to come home?” You ask, and he gives you a slightly puzzled look.

“I told him the truth.” He says as he loosens his tie from around his neck.

You swallow harshly as you watch his slender fingers pull at the fabric. His jaw is perfectly sculpted along with his neck, and his adams apple bobs as he steps towards you.

“Which is?” You reluctantly ask.

“I told him not to come home unless he planned on watching me fuck a pretty girl to tears.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you stare up at him with almost a frightened gaze. His movement feels much more predatory now as if he’s been watching you for a while, sizing you up. He had observed and stood by, waiting for the prime opportunity to pounce.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” Nanami asks as he steps forward again. The back of your knees hits his bed, and his smile shifts to a lopsided grin.

“No. I just…” You had no idea what to even say to that! You weren’t use to a man so confidently bolstering about his skills without sounding like a total idiot. Nanami was a rarity. He could talk the talk and walk the walk.

“No. I just..” He mocks you. “You’re awfully nervous for someone I haven’t even touched yet.” His fingers gently caress over your collarbone, before he carefully nudged you back. You tipped over and found yourself sitting on his bed, looking up at him with big round eyes.

“Christ. Have you ever even done this before?” He asks as he leans over you. His hand press down on the mattress at both of your sides, effectively trapping you beneath him.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a huffy attitude that makes him chuckle. “Have you?” You ask, trying to even the score.

“No.” He responds before closing the distance between you two. His lips press against yours and move delicately. Your eyes widen before you realize what was going on, and you slowly melt into the kiss.

Lips smack together as he takes the lead on the kiss. His hands gently cup and caress their way down your body before resting upon your hips. His knee finds it’s way between your thighs, and he applies pressure to your core.

Stifling a small whine, you entangle your fingers through his blonde hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be. His kisses are growing more and more demanding as he’s pushing you back onto the bed more and more.

He gently bites at your lip, and he applies more pressure with his knee. As soon as you let another another small whimper, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s taking complete and utter advantage over your body while you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact he said “no”. He’s claiming to have never done this before.

His thumbs dig into your hipbones before he makes you grind against his knee.

“That’s right. Use me.” He purrs lowly, encouraging for you to keep rolling your hips. Once you found a steady rhythm, rubbing yourself against his knee like a desperate slut, he releases your hips and grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the bed.

“Ken..” You gasp out lowly, and he immediately eats up your words, forcing his lips right back upon yours.

The grinding was slowly making you feel all dizzy in the head as you slowly start to mess up your rhythm. He immediately notices your messy state. His hands leave your wrists to grab back ahold of your thighs to make sure you don’t stop. If his slacks weren’t black, he was sure there would be a small damp spot on his leg from your delicious juices.

“Hah~” You gasp as you lean your head back.

“Does that feel good?” He questions lowly before carefully nipping at your neck.

“Yes… Yes, Kento.. more..”

“Oh, what was that, darling? I didn’t hear you.” He taunts as he bites his way down your neck.

“M-more!” You whimper out as you grow impatient.

“So greedy…” He murmurs before his sucks a small hickey on your neck all while he’s still making you grind your pitiful pussy against his thigh. “Beg.”

You feel that defiant nature wanting to kick in. You were needy for him, but you weren’t to the point of begging yet.

“Did you hear me? I said beg.” He demands as he forces you down on his leg harder. Your legs tremble around him as he’s making you rock hack and forth.

“Please-“ You finally choke out against your defiant nature. “I-I.. want more, please… I need you to.. to ruin me.”

“Ruin you, hm?” He asks as his hand carefully trails upwards to your neck. He applies just a bit of pressure. “A pretty girl like you asking for me to ruin her… How could I say no?”

He removes his leg from between your leg, and he quickly replaces it with his hand. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth of your leggings. You immediately shudder from the new stimulation. You hold his gaze as he lightly chokes you.

“I think I want to see you come on my fingers first.” He says as he’s quick to shove your leggings and panties down. You gasp quietly as you look down at him. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and he has a determined look on his face. He was set on making you come with his hand.

You push your thighs together with a small whine as he gives your glistening cunt an amorous gaze. Nanami places his hands on both of your knees as he forces your legs back apart. “Now, you know why you came here. What are you running from?”

“I- … You’re looking at me like…” the words ‘like you want to eat me’ die upon your tongue. His aura is just so.. almost intimidating. Not in a scary way, just in a he’s-not-here-to-play way.

“You’re so pretty, but gods, you’re so confusing.” He shakes his head as he carefully drags his tongue up your slippery folds. “Just sit still and let me take care of you, darling.” He mumbles before he laps at your cunt again. He purses his lips and gently sucks on your clit. It almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy.

“Oh.. f-fuck..” You gasp as you lean your head back into his mattress. Your hands fist at the blanket beneath you, ruining his perfectly made bed.

Nanami continues to lick and suck. The sounds in the room were nothing short of erotic. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue smack and almost slurp at you. His hands hold your thighs up, practically wearing them as earmuffs as he eats you like a starved man.

His fingertip gently traced over your opening before he carefully slipped a finger in. He continued to lap at your cunt as his finger pumped in and out and prodded around.

“Oh my-! .. N-Nanami.. ah~” You pant out. In his eyes, your entire body was flushed. You were so subtly grinding yourself against his tongue. In his eyes, you were a goddess in touch with her sexuality and femininity. You just needed a small nudge to get there.

He adds a second finger, and he so carefully curls them upwards to gently press right on the spot that made you see stars.

Your hands abandoned the bed, and you grabbed onto his hair. His hazel eyes flutter up at you, and his glasses were pushed up onto his head.

Your orgasm was building quicker than it ever had before. “Nanami-! fuck, I’m gonna..” You try to warn, but he’s already a step ahead of you. His fingers start pumping a big more aggressively, and he’s pointed with his tongue, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls in tight circles around the small bundle of nerves.

Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his fingers, spasming on his face. He continues to thrust his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand. Pressing a few more small kisses to your overly sensitive cunt, he slowly pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises lowly.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you recover from the best orgasm you’ve ever received. Your eyes flutter open weakly to see Nanami ditch his glasses. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin dry.

He then places the fingers he so deliciously used to fuck you into his mouth, and he sucks them clean with a satisfied groan.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. It falls to the floor as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You can already feel your arousal building up again as you see the absolute tent in his slacks. Of course the nerd was absolutely hung.

Without another word, his pants and boxers are on the ground. His dick stood hard at attention. It was too heavy to press all the way up towards his stomach. Speaking of stomach, he was absolutely fucking built. He had well-defined solid abs and a broad chest.

You watch carefully as he fists his length a few times. You admire the way the veins bulge from his hands and arms. He wastes no more time: climbing up on top of you. He guides your legs up onto his shoulders, and he leans forward, putting you in a mating press.

His hand suddenly covers your mouth. “Spit.” He orders bluntly.

“W-what-?”

“I didn’t stutter. Spit. Unless you want me to go in dry.”

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare, so you gathered as much saliva into your mouth as you could, and you spat into his hand.

He doesn’t look phased in the slightest as he lubes himself up with your spit. He lets out a soft breath as the wet sounds of him gliding his hand up and down his cock fill the room. He then wipes his hand off on the bed, and he covers your mouth tightly with his hand. “Try not to be too loud, darling. I don’t want anyone to come and bother us.”

He was so fucking confident that he was going to make you noisy. It almost pissed you off, but Nanami was a man of his word.

He aligned himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. You let out a silent scream into his hand, and your back arches up off the bed. His eyes darken as he lets out a guttural growl.

Your cunt was just too precious to him, squeezing him so perfectly. You were absolutely sopping wet and so goddamn warm. He actually had to bite his tongue to not come prematurely. Once he tasted the hint of metal in his mouth, the urge to finish subsided.

“Shhh, shh. Be a good girl. The pain will subside soon.” He assures you quietly as his hips gently rock back and forth shallowly.

“Mmmnnf~ K-kento!” You moan into his hand. He hates having to muffle your pretty noises, but he really can’t risk getting a noise complaint right now.

“That’s right, darling.. Take it..” His hips start to roll with a bit more conviction. His thrusts are slow but powerful. Each time he buried himself deep in you, you went all dizzy in the head.

“Oh fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” He praises as his other hand holds one of your thighs up for you. Your body is almost slack from how harsh his hips are snapping into you. His leaking tip was bruising your cervix with each brutal thrust.

Nanami wishes he could take a picture right now. Your eyes are all glossed over. Your face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and your lips are all puffy and slightly parted. Your babbling utter nonsense as your greedy pussy takes him in with each thrust.

“F-fuck..! So big.. can feel you right here~” You moan as you point towards your lower stomach.

Nanami looks to where you’re pointing, and as if this man needed anymore courage, he begins to fuck you harder.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Yeah? Y’feel me in your womb, darling?” He groans. Noise complaint can be damned. He lets your mouth go and grabs your hips as he continues to pound your pretty pussy.

Tears involuntarily spring into your eyes from the sheer intensity. When Nanami said he was going to fuck you to tears, you thought it was just a figure of speech. Nah, you were lying in his bed, crying because the dick was so good.

“Look at me.” He demands as he grabs your blushed cheek and forces you to look up at him. “This pussy’s mine from now on, understand me?”

“Y-yes!” You cry out to him. Your stomach starts to coil with white hot pleasure as your orgasm builds up again.

“Tell me you love me when you cum on my cock.” He demands lowly. You’re too fucked stupid to argue.

The bed squeaks and wails in agony as he his thrusts are growing more erratic and sloppy. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his release as he gets more vocal and noisier too.

Your eyes cross as you feel your body gyrate on him. Your second orgasm crashes over you so suddenly you didn’t even have time to warn him. Your soul nearly floats away from you as you feel warm juices flood out from you. “Fuck~.. I-.. I love you, Nanami!” You whimper out. In the heat of the moment, it does feel like love.

Such pure pretty words being uttered during such a lewd time. Nanami is instantly emptying himself into you. His dick throbs as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of cum inside of you. His hands are shaking as they hold onto your hips. “Ngh.. I love you, darling. Take it.. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.” He lowly growls.

The room is quiet as both of you pant softly. After a few moments, you realize you had professed a love to him that you weren’t even sure about. Yes, Nanami was attractive physically and mentally. Sure, he was apparently a god in bed, but love???

What if he wasn’t even being serious when he told you to say that? He probably didn’t even mean it when he said it back. What if you made things weird? Is that why he’s being so silent?

Nanami leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead. “That was intense. Are you alright, darling?” He asks affectionately.

You nod weakly, not wanting to frustrate him with your insecure thinking style.

“Are you sure? I’m not only talking about physically.” He murmurs softly as he slowly allows for your thighs to slip down to around his hips. His hand carefully strokes your cheek.

“I told you I love you..” You murmur out quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He exhales softly in amusement. “You did do that. It was very sexy. Do you regret saying it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” You confess quietly. “You said it back too…”

“I did. Seeing your body in such a vulnerable state as you were trusting me with your very essence made me feel full with love.”

You look up at him as he just said the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think I regret it.”

“I’m glad. I don’t regret it either.” He smiles and presses another small kiss to your temple.

*** *** ***

“Was that really your first time?” You giggle as the hot water coats your body. Nanami’s fingers are attentively massaging shampoo into your scalp.

“It really was.” He laughs quietly. “Why is it so hard to believe.”

“You were too good for a virgin.”

“I’m glad my darling thinks so.” He smiles and carefully leans your head back, so the water can rinse the shampoo from your hair.

“Where did you even learn that stuff from?” You ask curiously, wondering if Nanami just had a secret raging porn addiction.

“I have the horniest friend group. They don’t understand the concept of too much information.”

Ah. That makes sense.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog

[heyybaejjk]

welcoming your husband, nanami, home from work with a little help from your toddler ✧

→ f!reader, toddler dad nanami, sfw

"daddy homeeeeee!"

"rin, wa-

zooming out of your lap like she hasn't seen him in years, rin is so full of energy you just spent the last two hours trying to drain from her. it's late afternoon—exactly her nap time.

your plan was to get her down before kento came home, but that's long forgotten. just like you, curled up on the little toddler bed your husband built.

when you're sitting up, your heart beats harder in anticipation. after all these years, you're still excited to see him, and your daughter is your carbon copy—you can't blame her. walking into the hallway, you hear him before you see him—the front door clicks, and he laughs. rin squeals.

"daddy!"

"hi, my darling! oh- careful, remember to keep fingers away from the door."

before he's even in the house, rin is blocking him, little hands pulling at the gap to open it further. "daddy, what doin'?"

"i'm saying hello to my little girl. what are you doing, rin? did you have a good day with your mother?" like a narrator, kento drops his work bag and scoops his daughter in his arms, big hand covering the entirety of her neck as he pulls her in for a welcome-home kiss.

you're watching them with a soft smile, leaning against the wall in the hallway, when he notices you. he gives a little sideways smile, steered back into conversation when rin sees his loving gaze falter.

"we colored... and play outside..." she begins, attention drifting off into space as she fixates on his tie. she's too distracted to see the quick glances you two are sharing. "n we play dressup. mommy wore pretty dress like princess."

"did she, now? did you take any pictures to show daddy?"

"mm-mm." she declares with a shake of the head, fitting hands making fists in the luxe fabric. "wan' it."

"oh, you want my tie?" as whipped as he is with you, he's even more gullible for his baby girl. one hand works it loose from his neck, arm barely flexing as he balances her in one. halfway off, he resorts to his teeth, pulling it loose and draping it over rin's neck—moreso her small shoulders. then, he turns, giving that split second of distraction to you.

"we missed you today," you smile, biting your lip as you approach them. she's so taken with her daddy's tie that she jumps when you approach, hand ruffling the slick part in her pigtailed hair.

"i missed my girls, too." his voice softens as you two stand so close that your breath becomes one. it's just a force of habit for him to lean in and press a kiss to your lips. like always, he lingers there for a second, brushing his nose against yours and smiling into your soft lips.

when rin wants her dad's attention again, she reaches out to pull at his shirt, pouting like it was her full-time job. "daddy, I don't wan' take nap."

kento chuckles against your lips, then pulls away, giving his daughter that fake stern stare he always gives you when your attitude rages. she reaches up, forgetting about the tie, and squeezes his cheek.

"oh, no." he replies, voice jumbled and muffled from her hold on his face. "we're taking a nap."

"did you see that link i sent you?" you ask, leaning against the counter as kento sheds his shoes—popping a few buttons on his dark blue shirt. "about her pre-school, it's expensive, but when I toured it-

"we'll get her signed up."

"i- thanks. also, ken-

"dada!!"

as he unlinks his cuffs and pulls his sleeves over his forearms, rin sprints out of her room with a stuffed bear in her hands. it's one she's had since she was a baby—torn and scuffed from constant love.

"yes, beautiful?" at his feet, she rises to her toes, waving it for him to reach and grab. "oh, thank you. I'll take good care of him."

and, she's off again. you watch her trip over her tiny bare feet, making a beeline back to her room.

"ken, she has to go to the doctor for an exam before she can enroll, I've been calling arou-

"daddy!!"

"yes, princess?" this time, at his feet, rin is waving a silver plastic tiara, tiny fist locked in the straight fabric of his pants. "oh, am I the princess?"

"dada wear." she states like she's on a mission, staring up at him sternly with those identical hazel wide-eyed stare.

so he does without further question. he combs his slicked hair back with his hand and slips the thing right over his head. you giggle, stifling back more as you cover your mouth. he's shameless—much less serious about himself since he's entered this phase of fatherhood. you love this way of being so much on him. it's like he's finally free from his burdens. but, you know the truth. he's only so carefree around his daughter.

"how do i look, hm?" he reads rin's stance—both arms stretched high like she wants to be picked up. she doesn't have to tell him twice, he's leaning over with a grunt, scooping her back into his safe arms. "am I a pretty princess?"

"no-

he gasps—fake as hell, but emotive enough to draw a series of innocent giggles right from his favorite source. "oh, I forgot—the prettiest princess around is my little nanami rin, hm?"

"mama!"

kento pulls her close for another kiss on the cheek, moving her to his side to carry her off to her room. you're just glad he's willing to subdue her to sleep today. she'll drift off in seconds if it's him at her side. "mm, no. mama's much more of a queen who rules with an iron fist."

"wha's that mean?"

[heyybaejjk]

very cutesy

“you sure about this?” you ask, perched on the bathroom counter with your legs dangling, a towel spread across your lap like it’s going to save you from making a mess. your eyes sparkle with a mix of nerves and mischief.

nanami’s standing between your knees, already shirtless, towel around his waist, face freshly splashed with warm water. he nods once, the way he always does when he’s already decided.

“i trust you.”

and he does. probably more than he should.

you grin, giddy, and reach for the shaving cream, squirting a generous amount into your hands before smoothing it over his jaw with careful, clumsy fingers. he closes his eyes at the contact. breathes deep.

god, he loves how gentle you are. even when you’re fumbling, even when you smear foam on his lips and immediately gasp and try to wipe it off with your sleeve.

“sorry! sorry, baby,” you murmur, and he catches your wrist before you can scrub at him like a smudge on a window.

“it’s fine,” he says, eyes still closed, voice a low hum. “just… take your time.”

he wants to remember the weight of your touch. how close your face is. how your knees squeeze against his sides for balance. how you smell like his soap, like you’d used it in the shower without asking. it’s not like you need to ask anyway.

you take the razor next, a little hesitant. your hand rests under his chin and he tilts his head obediently.

“you’re being really brave right now,” you whisper dramatically, giggling under your breath.

“you’re holding a blade to my neck. i’d hope so.”

you drag the razor down his cheek with exaggerated care, a little crooked, a little too much pressure. he flinches once—not from pain, but because your nose nearly brushes his and your breath fans warm over his mouth. inviting.

he opens his eyes and sees you biting your lip in focus, eyes flitting down to check your work, and his stomach turns over with affection so strong it feels like gravity.

“did i get it? is that good?” you ask. he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you.

you blink at him, wide-eyed. “what?”

he leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth. “nothing. keep going.”

you finish the job slowly. carefully. a few small nicks at his jaw and near his chin—tiny pink reminders that you’re not a pro, but you tried, and that’s what makes it precious.

and when you’re done, you clean him up with a warm towel and rub balm into his skin with both palms like you’re afraid he’ll break.

“you look so handsome,” you whisper, proud.

“even with the cuts?”

you kiss one, featherlight. “especially with the cuts.”

he walks around with them for the next few days like they’re badges of honor. and when gojo asks what the hell happened to his face, nanami just touches his jaw, expression softening for a moment before he mutters,

“none of your business.”

but really—he’d let you do it again. a hundred times over. just for the excuse to feel your hands on him like that. so close. so careful. so full of love.

[heyybaejjk]

im not crying , you are.

The door creaked open with a heavy sigh, and there he was — your husband, toji. His shoulders were broad and slouched, heavy work bag slipping off his arm as he rubbed his neck with a low hiss, clearly worn out from his long shift. But the second his heavy boots crossed the threshold, a burst of giggles and tiny feet came barreling towards him.

“Daddy!!”

Your two boys—wild little 4 and 5-year-olds—practically tackled his legs, wrapping their small arms around his thighs like little baby koalas on a branch. They were both talking at once, babbling about their day, about the snacks you gave them, about the bug they found outside. Toji chuckled under his breath, eyes softening as he reached a heavy, calloused hand down to ruffle their messy hair.

And then came the waddling.

Your 1-year-old daughter, still a little unstable on her feet, made her way over with little squeaky steps, arms up in that wordless, universal baby plea: ‘Pick me up, Daddy’. She plopped herself right onto his boot, clinging on like it was her own little island while she blinked up at him with an adorably wide, gummy smile.

“Hey, hey,” Toji murmured, his voice rough from exhaustion but still thick with affection as always. “Look at my crew, huh? You guys miss me or something?”

The boys shouted “Yes!” while the baby just giggled, kicking her tiny feet against his shoe. Toji’s gaze finally flicked up to you, and the moment his eyes landed, they softened even more.

There you stood, hands resting on the curve of your swollen belly—round and glowing with your fourth little one on the way. The house was full, loud, chaotic, and growing but the sight of you carrying another piece of him made his chest ache in that familiar, overwhelming way. Like his heart couldn’t hold it all.

You made your way over too, smiling widely as you slipped your arms gently around his waist to hug him, careful with your belly pressing between you. “Welcome home, baby”.

He let out a low grunt, eyes warm as he watched you with love. “C’mere,” he rasped, and with that same easy strength, he scooped you up with one arm, making you squeal softly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His other hand came down, palm wide and gentle as it cradled the back of your oldest son’s head, the way a father instinctively shields his kids. The younger boy and baby stayed hugging his legs and feet, all of you tangled around him like he was the center of your little world.

Which, really, he is.

“Hard day?” you whispered, forehead pressing against his as your hands settled against the solid bulk of his shoulders.

“Was, but now?” He exhaled against your skin while rubbing his nose on your cheek, voice full of quiet devotion. “S’perfect”.

He kissed you softly, careful of your belly between you while your kids stayed latched to him like little ducklings, the whole family wrapped around him—his safe little world.

Eventually, after several more minutes of standing there swarmed, he finally shuffled you all to the living room, groaning as he slowly lowered himself onto the couch with all of you still attached. “Alright, alright—lemme sit before you all break me”.

But sitting only made him more of a target.

You nestled yourself into his lap properly, your belly resting softly against his stomach as your arms draped around his big shoulders. Toji instinctively rubbed your back, his other hand settled gently on your bump, thumb idly tracing slow, loving circles.

“Hey, baby bean,” he murmured to your bump, voice going soft like it always did when he talked to the new little one inside you. “You giving Mommy a hard time today?”

You smiled sleepily, your head against his chest. “Not too bad. Just kicking a lot”.

The boys clambered onto the couch next. Your oldest was immediately fascinated with Daddy’s thick arms. “Whoa… your muscles are huge,” he said in awe, carefully rolling his toy car up and down Toji’s bicep like it was some kind of ramp. “Look, Mommy! It’s a race track!”

Toji smirked confidently, flexing slightly to make the car bump. “Hey now, don’t scratch me up, huh?”

Meanwhile, your younger boy wiggled his way to Toji’s hand, grabbing his large palm and carefully trying to crack his fingers like he’d seen Toji do so many times. “Lemme do it! Like this, Daddy?”

“Gentle, kiddo,” Toji laughed while letting him try. “You’ll break my whole hand”.

And your daughter—sweet little thing had wormed her way behind him on the couch, tiny fingers tangling gently into his dark hair. She giggled softly every time his hair tickled her palms. “Hairrr,” she babbled.

“You like Daddy’s hair, princess?” Toji tilted his head slightly toward her, voice so warm it could melt.

The whole scene made your heart ache in the best way—your big, strong husband surrounded and smothered by his kids, doting on all of you while you carried yet another life the two of you created inside of you.

“You’re getting attacked, baby,” you teased softly, tracing your fingertips along his jaw.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.” He kissed your forehead. “My whole world. Right here”.

You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his lips while your children happily continued their ‘assault,’ completely unaware how precious this moment was. Toji hummed into your kiss, hand still rubbing soothing circles over your belly like it was second nature now.

Eventually, when the kids started to tire themselves out a little, Toji leaned in close, voice dropping low just for your ears, lips brushing your temple.

“Later tonight… once these little monsters are finally asleep,” he murmured, voice warm with affection and a little husky with promise, “you’re gonna sit on my lap again, baby. Real close this time”.

You flushed instantly, biting your lip as you smiled. He grinned, watching your reaction with that same glint in his eyes, full of love and want.

But for now, he was perfectly happy, sinking deeper into the soft couch, into your warmth, into the pure, beautiful chaos of your growing family — his favorite place on earth.

[heyybaejjk]

OH HECK YEAHHHHHHHH

¸.☆¸.♡.¸ The Princess' Sword - Chapter One ¸.☆¸.♡.¸

Pairing: (Knight) Nanami x (Princess) F!Reader

Summary: (AU) You drift quietly through your life, seen by all but noticed by none. Until you wander upon an unexpected offer.

Word Count: 1,262

Comments: ʚ♡ɞ Hello, welcome to the start of this story! I already have a lot of it mapped out and roughly drafted so expect more to follow soon. I hope you enjoy ʚ♡ɞ

Series Masterlist

The Kingdom of Rika had not seen war in nearly three generations. Its banners danced lazily in the breeze that carried from the docks, over the courtyards and sun drenched towers. The people said that peace had made the realm strong, and your father was ever keen to keep it that way, even if it meant forgetting you.

Your days were filled with pretty dresses, pleasantries and (when necessary) royal appearances. But little else. You’d gotten good at it, perfecting the princess act. Always smiling politely at visiting nobles, sitting silent and poised beside your father when he held court and going gracefully through the necessary actions at feasts.

But when the halls were empty, you were simply forgotten.

Your three brothers were what held your father’s attention. He looked to them and saw the kingdom’s future. Your eldest, a future king. The middle, a skilled archer. And your youngest, a promising scholar. Leaving you in their shadow, a simple ornament wrapped in ribbon. A princess, yes, but not an heir, not a leader.

Your chambers in the west wing were beautiful, filled with soft light and a stunning view of the royal gardens through the tall arched windows. But you longed for more, even if you weren’t quite sure what more was. Your requests to assist in court matters, no matter how small, were always met with your father’s dismissal.

And so, you looked to fill your days however you could. But there were only so many times you could re-read the same books, and your embroidery lessons had become monotonous. You had practically memorised every inch of the endless stone corridors the castle had to offer on account of how many times you’d walked them.

That’s how, one bright afternoon, you wound up wandering past the gardens, past the rose bushes and the ivy covered wall, and out to the training grounds where the new knights were having their horseback skills tested.

The sound of pounding hooves and clattering metal echoed through the air, there was something so captivating about it all. You’d slowly began to make your way towards the railing, drawn in by the wild energy of it all. Your fingers had just begun to curl around the iron that separated you from the field when a low voice broke through your thoughts.

‘Your highness,’ it was firm but far from unkind.

Startled, you turned to find none other than Sir Kento Nanami, one of the senior knights, approaching you. He’d been part of your castle’s guard for as long as you could remember. Always a quiet but strong presence. His hands were clasped behind his back, armour gleaming under the high sun.

He bowed when he was a few steps away, his golden eyes steady and respectful. ‘I’m afraid this may not be the safest place for you to stand right now.’ His tone was respectful, but not chastising.

‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,’ you replied softly. ‘I only wished to watch.’

‘They’re still learning,’ he took a careful step towards the railing, whilst nodding towards the mounted knights. ‘Their mistakes could be dangerous.’

‘I’m not made of glass Sir Nanami,’ you replied, tilting your chin slightly with a stubborn grace.

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but their weapons are made of iron, and they are reckless.’

‘I thought I would be safe enough from behind the railing,’ you said. ‘Besides, what else am I meant to do? Watch the birds from my window again?’ You tried to make the words sound light, like a joke, but the sigh slipped through beneath them and Nanami didn’t miss it.

He said nothing, just kept his gaze on the field with his jaw tight in thought. You turned, expecting this to be another moment where you were gently ushered away, as always. But just as you began to take a step away his voice followed you.

‘Your highness.’

You stopped, looking over your shoulder.

‘If you were to stay behind me,’ he said, turning so his eyes met yours once again. ‘And we kept our distance, it would be safer.’

You couldn’t help how brightly your face lit up. You spun back towards him, your surprise evident, and something softened across Nanami’s features. Not quite a smile, but a warmth he rarely shared.

Without another word he led you to a quiet corner beneath an old oak tree. It was further from the chaos but with a clear view. You stood together, the breeze ruffling his cloak as he positioned himself slightly in front of you. His posture was stiff, arms folded. You wondered if it was years of duty that had his stance so perfectly still.

Your eyes followed the fresh knights as they weaved through drills Nanami must have set up. They ducked low over their horses, twisting around obstacles and striking targets with growing precision. It was mesmerising, even if the trainees weren’t fluid in their movements.

‘I never learned,’ you said, more to the wind than to the man in front of you, but his head tilted just enough for you to know he’d heard you. ‘To ride that is,’ you clarified softly.

His gaze shifted at that, just slightly to the corner of his eye. ‘All royals should have been taught,’ his reply was quiet but steady.

Your shoulder lifted into a half shrug as you replied, ‘my brothers did, of course. They were in saddles before they could walk. But I was told it wasn’t necessary for me. Perhaps I was only meant to sit in pretty carriages.’ The bitterness in your tone was subtle but undeniable.

A beat of silence stretched between you, you expected your words to fade, to be swallowed up into nothingness as they so often were. But then…

‘I could give you a lesson, your highness.’

Your head snapped up, though he didn’t meet your eyes straight away. ‘Just the basics, so you wouldn’t be lost if the need ever arose.’

He sounded like he was trying to reason with himself, like the offer had slipped out before he could stop it. For a heartbeat all you could do was stare at him. You weren’t used to this, being heard. Being offered something you’ve longed for without having to try and justify your reasons. And yet here Sir Nanami was, offering it to you like your wants actually mattered.

‘Sir Nanami,’ you finally managed to reply, warmth lacing your words. ‘I’d like that very much.’

There was a pause, then a slight nod from him before he said, ‘Tomorrow morn, after breakfast if it suits you, your highness.

‘It suits me perfectly,’ your words were soft but sure. ‘Thank you.’

There was a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in some time, as though with just a few words, something in your world had shifted slightly.

A smile remained spread across your face as you lingered a little while longer, watching the knights. You were so lost in your thoughts, imaging yourself atop one of the horses that you didn’t notice the way Nanami’s eyes flickered from the field to you every so often.

When the last rider eventually dismounted and the drill had come to an end, Nanami cleared his throat as he turned back to you with a bow.

‘That will be all for today, your highness.’

You inclined your head, schooling your expression into something practised and neutral, though inside you were simply glowing. And as you turned to leave your mind raced with what the next morning might have in store for you.

Divider Credit - @olenvasynyt

[heyybaejjk]

I think I wanna make a little drabble/smau on nanami being able to understand your nonverbal language. Like you could pull a face or make some strange noise and he gets you. Will get you that glass of water, or help you get comfortable in bed, or ask if you want him to bring the book that you forgot in the living room. So in tune with you :(

He's lowkey crazy and very calm about it

[heyybaejjk]

HEAR. ME. OUT. 🔊🔊🔊🔊🔊

crash landing on you fanfic with Nanami as the ML 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 i was rewatching the kdrama and his mannerisms just reminds me of nanami YALL help a girl out and let this happen🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

[heyybaejjk]

ᴍᴀᴛᴇʀɪᴀʟɪꜱᴛ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ - ʀᴏᴏᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ - ᴅᴀᴅ!ᴛᴏᴊɪ

♱ Treshold - Scenario - Choso, Sukuna, Gojo, and Suguru.

♱ "Did you just call her baby?" - Scenario - Sukuna, Toji, Gojo, and Nanami.

♱ You start crying in the middle of an argument - Scenario - Gojo, Sukuna, Choso, Suguru, and Toji.

♱ "Who the fuck did this to you?" - Scenario - Sukuna, Gojo, Megumi, and Suguru.

♱ He handles his kid beating someone up - Drabble - Dad!Toji.

♱ Megumi learns a swear word from his dad - Drabble - Dad!Toji.

♱ You mention your ex in front of them - Scenario - Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, and Naoya.

♱ "After you left." part i - Scenario - Toji, Sukuna, and Nanami.

♱ "After you left." part ii - Scenario - Toji, Sukuna, and Nanami.

♱ He realizes he made twins. - Drabble - Dad!Gojo

♱ Someone gets handsy with you. - Scenario - Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Suguru and Choso.

♱ "That ring is fake." - Scenario - Sukuna, Toji, Suguru, Gojo, and Choso.

♱ They found you hurt and crying - Scenario - Sukuna, Toji, Gojo, Suguru, Megumi, and Nanami.

♱ Someone yells at you in front of him - Scenario - Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, and Suguru.

♱ "I can't pay rent this month." Prank - Scenario - Toji, Gojo, Suguru, Nanami, Sukuna, and Megumi.

♱ "Daddy how are babies made?" - Scenario - Sukuna, Toji, Nanami, Gojo, Suguru, and Choso.

gif: @sperocordolium

[heyybaejjk]

Notes, my brain is just filled with roommate sukuna ughh.

★ Roommate!Sukuna who can't keep his hands to himself.

You're not dating.

You're not dating.

You’ve said it so many times that even you are starting to tilt your head and wonder if you’re lying.

Because roommates don’t do… this.

Roommates don’t slap your ass in the middle of the kitchen just because you’re in his way grabbing a spoon.

“‘Scuse me, princess,” Sukuna says behind you as his palm cracks across the fabric of your shorts. You yelp. He smirks, crowding close as he opens the cabinet over your shoulder like you’re not even there.

You try to glare up at him. “You could’ve just said ‘move.’”

“I did. With action.”

Roommates don’t randomly walk past the couch where you’re sitting with your friends, loop an arm around your waist, tug you back into his chest and ask casually, “Hey, you see my black hoodie?”

The one you're wearing? Yeah. That one.

“Right here,” he grunts, fingers slipping under the hem like he’s about to yank it off. You have to slap his hand and shoot him a don’t you dare face before he finally backs off, grinning like the devil.

Your friends stare.

You clear your throat. “Don’t mind him.”

They exchange looks.

Later, one of them corners you while you’re pouring drinks. “So like… what are you guys?”

You freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Come on,” they whisper, eyes wide. “He literally grabbed your waist like you were property and then sniffed your neck.”

You blink. “Oh. Yeah, he does that.”

“So…?”

You hesitate. Smile a little. “Roommates…?”

They stare at you like you’ve grown a second head.

He’s touchy like it’s built into him. A hand on your hip when you’re both brushing teeth. Shoulder pressing into yours when you’re walking down the hall. Sprawled out across the couch and dragging you onto his lap like it’s nothing, arms slung lazily around your waist while you whine that there’s “literally a whole other cushion.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your neck, “but that one doesn’t have you on it.”

If you try to move, he holds tighter. Not in a you can’t escape way, but in a try and see what happens way.

He’s never pushed your boundaries. You know that. If you ever actually told him to stop, he would — not without a muttered insult like “boring ass”, but he’d stop. And you haven’t. Because, well… have you seen the man?

Shirt always missing. Tattoos crawling up his arms and across his chest like they were painted on by sin itself. Low voice, low eyes, smirk that could probably be outlawed in 43 states.

Yeah. You’re not exactly complaining.

When you're sick, he's a different kind of annoying. Tells you not to breathe on him and then lays right next to you. Feeds you soup and talks shit the whole time.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

He scoops more broth into your mouth. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

You’re falling asleep to his hand absently rubbing circles into your hip. You should ask him to move. You don’t.

When you’re dressed up for a night out, he stares too long. Calls you a brat, tells you not to get kidnapped, then kisses your temple on the way out like that’s normal.

Sometimes when you get back, tipsy and laughing, he’s still awake.

Still touchy.

“You have fun?” he’ll say, cornering you in the kitchen again, his palm sliding across your lower back as he traps you near the fridge. “Didn’t let anyone else touch you like this, right?”

You never answer. Not with words.

You call him an ass.

He calls you worse.

But when you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder during a movie, he doesn’t move a muscle. Just watches the screen like it’s no big deal while his hand drapes around your thigh like it’s his.

You’ve been just roommates for eight months.

You don’t know how much longer you can pretend.

And you’re starting to think?

He’s not pretending at all.

[heyybaejjk]

notes, another lovely request, absolutely in lovveeee.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when you leave your niece with him.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours!” you yell as you slip your shoes on. “She’s already eaten. No sweets. No horror movies. Don’t let her climb anything.”

Sukuna appears in the hallway, shirtless, towel slung around his neck, looking wildly unbothered.

“I’m not watching your tiny clone,” he mutters, scrubbing his damp hair.

You give him a wide, forced smile. “You live here. You exist in the same space. Just breathe near her and make sure she doesn’t die.”

“Why the hell is that my job?”

“Because I’m late, and she already likes you more than she likes me—bye!”

You’re out the door before he can argue.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Hi, Kuuuuna,” says a small voice.

Sukuna turns slowly.

There she is. Your five-year-old niece. Wearing a cape made of your bath towel. Holding a glittery toy wand. Standing in the doorway like she owns the whole apartment.

He stares.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“It’s my magic cape,” she says solemnly. “I’m a fairy. You’re the ogre.”

Sukuna blinks. “The what now?”

“You live under a bridge and kidnap goats.”

He squints. “You just call me fat and ugly in your little preschool dialect?”

She shrugs. “You just have ogre energy.”

He stares harder. “…You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Two Hours Later

The apartment is a warzone.

There’s glitter on his arms. Stickers on his legs. His hair’s in two half-ass ponytails courtesy of the tiny stylist-in-training who is currently coloring his tattoos with washable marker.

“Stop moving,” she whines, tugging on his arm. “You’re smudging your dragon.”

“It’s a fucking snake.”

“Language!” she says, pointing the glitter wand at him like a weapon.

He blinks. “You’re literally five. How do you know that’s a bad word?”

“Auntie said if you said it, I get a dollar.”

He scowls. “Snitch.”

She leans in, whispering dramatically. “You also say fuck a lot. That’s two dollars.”

He blinks. Then laughs, loud and sharp.

“Blackmail? You’re actually worse than your aunt.”

She beams proudly.

Later

You unlock the door and step inside. Drop your bag.

“Sukuna? We’re back—”

You freeze.

Your niece is passed out, sprawled across the couch in a pile of blankets.

And there, sitting on the floor with a half-eaten bowl of cereal on his knee and rainbow glitter in his hair, is Sukuna.

Holding a stuffed unicorn like it personally betrayed him.

He glances up at you with dead eyes.

“She told me I was her emotional support ogre,” he mutters.

You stifle a snort.

“She tried to sell me fake ‘magic juice’ for five bucks. It was tap water.”

“Oh my god—”

“She made me play tea party. With a Barbie whose head is taped on.”

“Did you give her snacks?”

“She gave me snacks. Handed me a cracker and said, ‘Don’t cry. You look like a sad pit bull.’”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh.

Sukuna sighs, standing up and ruffling glitter from his hair. “You owe me.”

You grin. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I want sushi. And liquor.”

“She’s five.”

“I’m not.”

You walk over and gently take the sleeping girl in your arms. “Thanks for watching her.”

He shrugs, eyes softening despite himself.

“…She’s not bad.”

You pause.

“She called you her favorite.”

He scoffs.

But when you carry her to your room, you catch him tucking the stupid unicorn back under the blanket.

Just in case she wakes up looking for it.