#nanami pov

[taomyou]

the art of watching the wind - chapter 1

Pairing: Nanami Kento/Reader

Status: ONGOING, updates every other saturday, 1/7 chapters

Summary: As it turns out, swapping out his corporate cubicle for a florist’s counter doesn’t mean he’s learned how to live life to the fullest.

But, as Nanami Kento comes to find out for himself, it does mean he has all the time in the world to spend it on the beach with the woman who’ll show him how to.

-

or, Nanami learning how to be happy.

Word Count: 9.0k

Tags: slow burn, modern au - no curses, reader-insert, character study, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, nanami pov

(A/N: this fic is available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead! chapter one is mostly setting/exposition)

“That’ll be it for today's shipment, my friend!” Gojo beams, one hand on his hip while the other slaps against the side of a crate of roses. When his friend doesn’t say anything in response, he frowns, shoving his hands into the pockets of his rugged work pants. “Hey, what’s with the long face?”

Nanami blinks, his hands gripping onto the handlebar of the platform cart. “What?”

“You good?”

“Oh, yes, I'm fine,” Nanami answers, loosening his grip on the handles. “Just a bit tired.”

"Last one in the shop today?"

"Yeah. Yaga's coming by later to drop off some papers, but I should be gone by then."

"Sounds good." Gojo smiles at his friend sympathetically before putting a hand on his shoulder as he begins to pass him on the walk back to the delivery truck. “Take it easy, yeah? No need to stress yourself out.”

The blonde sighs before halfheartedly nodding, gently removing the gloved hand from his arm. “I’m not, but I appreciate your concern.”

“If you say so,” Gojo teases, “See you around, Nanami. Would love to chat, but I've gotta finish up my route ASAP and beat that loser."

"You're still on about that? I thought you already won."

"That was last month! I need to prove I can keep up with the spring rush this month!" Gojo laughs. "Besides, he's the one that gets all butthurt about it, I wouldn't care if he didn't."

Nanami supposes it's true. The older man—whose name is Fushiguro, if he's remembering correctly—seems to have it out for the white-haired delivery driver; Nanami remembers him grumbling under his breath about Gojo "fucking up the schedule" and "making him look cheap," whatever that's supposed to mean, but though their rivalry seems fairly one-sided, Gojo indulges him for the fun of it.

Nanami doesn't quite get it, but he supposes this is just what happens when you need to make up your own fun on the job.

"Well, good luck then."

"Won't need it, but thanks! Let’s grab drinks sometime, my treat if you pay for dessert after!”

The blonde kisses his teeth, but he smiles in spite of it. “Sure. I’ll let you know when I’m available.” He probably won’t, but he’s sure that his friend will find a way to drag him out for a night in the town sometime soon, one way or another (and that, one way or another, he'll find a way to get out of it).

Nanami raises a hand from the handle as a gesture of his goodbyes as Gojo leaves, as does Gojo himself on his way back to his truck. He watches as his friend hops up onto the high seat of the vehicle, picks up a clipboard from the passenger-side seat, and writes down something with a pen he'd kept tucked behind his ear. With his gloves still on, Gojo pulls out his phone from his pocket and nestles it between his shoulder and his ear, still marking down items on the clipboard whilst checking over his shoulder occasionally to look for things in the backseat.

It sure is jarring to see the boisterous snow-haired man hard at work at... anything, really. He'd always been so carefree and limitless, and though those traits still exist in the man whilst on the clock, he seems just a tad bit more responsible than Nanami remembered him to be.

Has it really been so long that he'd been able to change so much without Nanami noticing?

The blonde is completely silent as he turns and wheels back the last of this week’s delivery into the back of the shop. It's not an entirely far walk, but the shop isn't immediately near any delivery zone, so Nanami has to push the cart a fair bit away before he can really call it a day. He's had to walk the same path everyday, multiple times each time, but he still somehow forgets the crack in the pavement that, if he rolls the cart over it, knocks back the whole thing and nearly tips all the crates' contents out. Instead of cursing himself (or whatever else he can think to blame, really), he bitterly smiles as he tugs on the cart and lets go of the handle with one hand so that he can hold up the crates for the remainder of the trip back to the shop.

At least this is the last time he has to make the journey today. He'll just have to remember to avoid that sidewalk hazard next time. He's reminded himself of this every shift, actually, but he somehow always seems to forget.

When he gets back to the shop, the back entrance is held open with a spare footstool he'd placed there at the beginning of the day. Helps keep the place well-circulated while the air conditioning is being repaired, for one, and it's nice not having to awkwardly open it and hold it out with his arm fully outstretched every time he passes through. Still, Nanami has to readjust his grip on the handlebar of the cart because one of the front wheels gets caught on the doorframe, and after tugging on it thrice, it gives way, he's able to get through smoothly. He pushes through and is now inside the back room of the shop, and he makes sure that his apron is securely tied behind his back before he moves to take the crates off of the cart.

The backroom is quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the boxes as he moves them into the walk-in cooler, and once everything’s offloaded, he moves the cart to its designated spot in the corner of the room. His back aches slightly from the slow, weighted movements, as the crates are decently heavy and require more strength to lift than he has at this late hour of the day, but he bears with it long enough for him to finish without breaking too much of a sweat.

“That should be it,” Nanami whispers to himself, looking around the room. He makes sure that everything’s in its proper place—the cart, the gloves, the stool, the rows of crates filled with flowers that’ll need to be sorted first thing tomorrow morning—and he lets out a sigh of relief when he's triple-checked that it is.

Good. Everything’s where it should be. All that's left is to close the back door, and he'll get to be cozy at the counter doing what he does best. It's a bit cold today, winter only just now turning to spring, so he'll change his apron and pull his sleeves back to full-length.

As he steps out to retrieve the chair that's holding it open, his eyes are downturned and his hands are busy putting the stool back in its proper place; but, as he waits for the door to close behind him, he looks over his shoulder to be momentarily met with the sight of the sunset. The sky at this time of day is a sight Nanami hardly ever got to see before working here, and he feels it'd be a waste to not at least try to catch sight of it before the day is over, so he takes it in during the brief seconds it takes for the door to close.

Some of the late-night spots in the nearby shopping center are beginning to turn on their lights to let people know that they're open for business, and that casts more light upwards in bursts of technicolor. Molten gold and pear-cut sapphire melt into one another in front of a barely-there haze, and birds sparsely dot the horizon like sesame seeds on a red bean bun. Brushstrokes of red, violet, and pink chase each other against a pale canvas of blues and silver, and rays of sunlight burst through to form a halo over the earth. The underside of the clouds are burnt umber and golden brown, flaky and crisp like a pastry sitting neatly in a display case, and they frame the sky like its a painting.

It doesn't take a genius to know that the sight is beautiful—a snapshot of the world from a corner of it that only he knows in this very moment. The faint spring breeze certainly does help in painting the picture, pushing his outgrown bangs out of his face and kissing him with the gentleness of the zephyr.

It's too bad, then, that it's a sight that Nanami still ultimately doesn't care much for, because instead of basking in the light, he winces at it with worn, tired eyes. He puts his free hand over his eyes to rub the weariness from them, and he keeps them closed as he turns back in towards the shop.

Must the sun always be so bright, so "in-your-face?"

Checking his watch, he sees that if he finishes a bit earlier than usual with the bookkeeping today, he should have enough time to make it to the bakery right off the freeway on his way home before they close. He'd been meaning to try the quaint little bakery for so long now, having been recommended it by an older woman in his building he'd helped carry in her groceries when he first moved to the city three long years ago, but between his job, leaving said previous job, and getting adjusted to his current... arrangements, there hasn't really been a good time to go.

Truthfully, he's memorized their menu, front-to-back, and he thinks about making the drive over often, but he just... doesn't. There's always something in the way: work that needs to be done before the end of the day, personal errands he needs to run, a bad mood that won't let him go. Instead, their hours of operation are taped onto the walls of his heart and left to peel with the paint, but they've still always functioned as a loose guide as to whether or not Nanami's doing a good job keeping track of his time at work.

Clearly, he hasn't ever done that.

But, if he gets out on time today, it'd be a nice milestone gift, he tells himself.

Besides, today marks the third month of him working here—it wouldn't hurt to treat himself to a little trip over to the storefront.

There's not much else in his life that he has to celebrate anyway, so he'll just make it up as it goes. He didn't even realize three months had passed, just taking things day-by-day to keep the dread of the future at bay for as long as he could, but a younger high school-aged boy, Itadori, had started at the shop on the same day as him, and Nanami'd overheard him telling a customer that he hit the quarter-year mark at the job (a miracle, apparently, because his grades demand much more attention than work should; still, Nanami helps him and one of the other coworkers, Kugisaki, with their maths homework when it's not too busy at the shop).

Yeah. Today can be the day.

He can play it by ear. He's made peace with the fact that this is about as good as it gets, and there's no better time than the present when he's so sorely reminded of the fact now that he's left behind nearly everything he'd ever known in his professional career for... whatever he's made of his life thus far.

He'll make it special.

He's said that a million times before, but, today, he really means it.

After blinking a few times to get the sun out of his eyes, Nanami puts the stool in its usual spot right next to the door. With his hands now free, he unties the back of his apron, walks over to hang it up at the hook right at the curtain between the two areas of the shop. He pushes through the half-height fabric curtains as he tugs his sleeves back to his wrists, and he buttons his cuffs back up as he's making himself comfortable at the florist's counter.

With his cabinet key, Nanami opens up the side drawer where the accounting materials are, and he pulls them out to lay next to the shop's computer. It's a bit outdated, clunky beige keyboard and all, but he doesn't mind it. He types in the passcode for the admin account with his right hand on the number pad whilst putting on his reading glasses, kept in his shirt's breast pocket at all times, and he gets to work. Having had so much practice in the trade, he gets through all the bookkeeping tasks quickly enough. There's a few hiccups because the shop is still in the process of changing their payroll system and Nanami's in charge of getting that all sorted out, but that's nothing out of the ordinary for any business going through the same procedures.

It's a bore to remember what it is that he's even doing, lost in the flurry as tabs are closed and new ones are opened, but at least he's only doing this for a couple hours every week as opposed to his entire working day. His face is completely stoic as he types, clicks, and flips through the logbook for delivery dates and other miscellaneous information. Nanami keeps track of what he's finished with and what data he'll need for his next bookkeeping session for Yaga to pick up whilst he's dropping off papers later, and the older man will know to then drop those notes off with his parents—the owners of the store.

They're nice people. He knew them as clients when they outsourced their accounting to his firm (and, thusly, him), and they'd been generous enough to offer him a full-time position in the shop, especially considering he had absolutely no experience in any sort of floristry. Nanami wished they'd come around more often as it's a bit hard to express his gratitude to them through emails and in the in-between of the margins of the papers they have him sign, but he's glad to know they're able to spend most of their time doing things more typical for a couple their age. 

He doesn't mind it, though—the work. Inputting numbers, cleaning buckets, double-checking financial records, dethorning roses, calculating the budget, putting together bouquets and other arrangements—all of it. Really, he doesn't. He's obviously more... adept at some things more than others, but he's learned to enjoy what he's learned in his time working here. But, while his hands move methodically and his eyes trace the screen from left to right, he can't help but be reminded of how he'd used to do this for a living. He supposes that he still does, but being a general florist who helps out with the bookkeeping for a small family-owned flower shop is quite a far step away from being the top financial analyst at the region's most prestigious accounting firm.

He really shouldn't be thinking about it. He's already spent enough time contemplating whether or not the pay cut was worth whatever sanity he'd scraped away for himself when he left, and he should be happy he's content where he is.

He's not happy here. It's as simple as that.

After he locks up the cabinet and clocks out for the day, he exhales deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter and rubbing at his temples with his hands. His head doesn't hurt like how it used to, but it's still not exactly raring for more to do. Sitting here, he has a clear enough view of the sidewalk in front of the shop, if only blocked by towers of flowers and gift displays.

He sees that the sun has set, and he won't have to worry about it blinding him from the horizon as he's driving home. That's nice.

After taking another few deep breaths, he gets up from the seat, and he grabs his coat and other personal belongings before locking up shop, getting into his car, and starting the drive home. Glancing at the clock now, there's still about an hour or so before the bakery closes, so he decides he'll make the quick detour over there. As he maneuvers through the highway, sure-as-steel that he's obeying all traffic laws despite the ache in his feet and the dreariness of his morale, his mind drifts slightly to the long-awaited sweets he's been fantasizing about for years. 

Has it really been so long since he's moved to this city?

Regardless, whatever'd been keeping him from going over to the little bakery for so long, he'll conquer it today. There's still enough time to make it comfortably before closing; he checks and there's forty-five minutes for him to make it there comfortably, and he's nearing his exit anyway.

He wonders what he'll get. It'd always been a faraway thought—that he'd ever make the time to go to the bakery on the off-road—so he always just figured he'd order whatever gets recommended to him. He's done his fair share of looking at their menu, though. He remembers, in the very beginnings of his time at that... horrendous job, back before he'd been overworked and overloaded with the tasks of more than a hundred men, he'd look up pictures and reviews and transcripts of their offerings online when the workday got slow enough for him to take his phone out of his bag and steal time. Back then, he truthfully did have the time to go and try it out, maybe even reach out to a friend and invite him to come along, but he supposes he'd figured he'd have time for it in the future.

"Save it for another time," he remembers telling himself. "It'll taste better if you wait for it—if you have something to celebrate."

Next thing he knows, three years and three months have passed, and he's never so much as driven past the place.

But, amidst the blooming angst, his mind conjures up those fond memories of himself using his old work computer to look at online reviews for the place. Thinking of them again now after so long, he

All those pastries, all those sweets, all those breads. It'd been so easy for him to forget that such a simple thing brought him joy; that anything at all brought him any kind of peace. He feels it in the pit of his stomach right now—the quiet little spark of excitement he hasn't felt in ages. If he'd known he'd be so worked up over the mere prospect of enjoying something sweet there, or maybe even something savory, he'd have quit his corporate job so, so long ago.

A new match lit in his chest, he smiles to himself slightly as he's driving through the wind. He rests his elbow just beneath the side window and props his head on that hand, and he moves his other hand to the top of the wheel to steer with a bit more panache. There's not much light out anymore and he still has to be careful he's driving safely in the dark, but he gets cozy against his seat cushion and lets himself sink deeply into the plush. His window's rolled up because he's not sure his senses can take much more overload after a day spent near wet flowers and loud, crinkling cellophane, but he'd like to think there's another version of himself out there whose able to feel the breeze through his hair.

Then, just as suddenly, the fire's put out by an inevitable wind, because just as he's beginning to merge into the exit lane he's meant to take to get to the bakery, a car cuts in front of him, forcing Nanami to slam his brakes and grip the steering wheel harder to avoid hitting the vehicle in front of him. Just barely able to check his mirrors, he swerves back into the faster, continuing lane and pushes on the gas to keep the car behind him from driving into him. Nanami's seatbelt saves him from launching forward, but, now looking over at the center console as he's checking for the time, the same can't be said for the cup of coffee he'd forgotten in his car's cupholder from yesterday morning.

Great. Coffee all over the center console and even more of it starting to soak into his passenger seat.

He's forced to just sigh and look ahead, now only ready to go home and get started on cleaning his car. He raises his hand for the driver behind him to know that he's sorry he had to swerve in front of them, his heart still beating out of his chest, and he blows anger out through his nose as he's forced to think about whether or not he's going to reroute to still get to the bakery or just resign for the day and go home. Looking at the clock again, there's only about thirty minutes left for until closing, and, even then, it'd be cutting it so close if he were to get there in the twenty-something minutes it'd take to figure out how to get there, park, and find something to order or choose from the display case.

If working at the flower shop has taught him nothing else thus far, it's that coming in that close to closing is enough to ruin everyone's evening, and Nanami'd rather not put any of the closers through more than they already have to deal with.

Quite unfortunate, all things considered, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Most he can do is frown about it while he's brushing his teeth later, maybe even curse the universe after he's gone through the apartment and made sure all the lights are off.

Maybe another time, then. There's more important things to do than try out some bread that's probably not as great as he's made it out to be in his head.

🔅

With a heavy heart (and a trash bag filled with coffee-soaked napkins and a now-barely damp washcloth), Nanami pulls his keys from out of his pocket, finds the one he needs to open his apartment door, and steps through. He hangs his keys up on a red push pin that's stuck into the drywall immediately to his right, courtesy of an old friend who'd helped him move into the place way back when, and he holds himself upright using the doorframe.

"I'm home," he says to the walls, taking off his shoes and leaving them near the welcome mat by the entrance. He's lived alone for a long time now, but he supposes he never really grew out of the habit of greeting the house when he's home. He leaves the trash bag by the door to take out with the rest of the trash later, dreading the eventual long walk he has to take to get to the dumpster, but, other than that, everything else about his routine tonight is the same.

There's nothing important about today, so there's nothing new for him to do.

After changing into something comfortable enough to lounge around in, Nanami drags his feet as he walks back out to the kitchen to see what he can make himself for dinner. His socks create enough static that he's shocked when he grazes the metal of his bedroom's doorframe, but he can't be much more bothered than he already is, so he just ignores it.

His fridge is exactly how he'd left it that same morning, with more than enough ingredients to put together a decent meal for himself, and he moves around aimlessly to do so. Today, it's a quick short rib stew with rice, and he lets a shuffled mix of songs he doesn't quite enjoy play from his phone to keep himself awake enough to not burn himself as he's cooking.

He eats at the dining table with a book propped up on an empty vase and held open with the pinky and thumb of his left hand, chewing while mindlessly reading about the development of various computer types, and he lets the dishes soak in the sink while he sits across the television and watches today's rerun of the Great British Bake-Off. He still hates watching the technical bake, but he's just being a hypocrite; not like he can do any of that either.

Once he's tired of watching yet another person underwhip their soufflé batter, he runs his hands down his face lethargically and gets up to do the dishes, very much aware of the ache in his feet after hours standing up on the shop. The hurt's caught up with him by now and he has to hold onto the counter to keep his legs from shaking, but maybe he's just being dramatic for the sake of it because he's able to bear it just fine when he has scalding hot water burning his hands as he scrubs away stubborn stains.

After that's done and dealt with, he takes out the trash, cleans up around the apartment, makes sure to pay for the water bill that's finally reached him from the previous month. He makes sure to appreciate how low it is right now because he knows it's only going to get higher with the rising temperature.

He takes a shower to wash all the loose petals and leaves that've snuck between his work clothes and his body, brushes his teeth (fully remembering to fume to himself about having to miss going to that bakery), and after making sure that all his lights are off and no appliances are left running, he lays in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands laced over his sternum.

Well, that's it.

That's his day, full and complete.

Get up, go to work, work, go home, go to sleep. There's some other steps along the way, and, sure, there's other things he could be doing, but it is what it is

It isn't quite the life he'd dreamed of when he left his hometown—that was what he had before his quit his corporate job—so, if he ignores the pay cut, the loss of prestige, and the shame of being somewhere he'd never planned for himself, then this is the next best thing.

And sleep comes to him quickly, he's grateful for that.

Still, in the very brief and very quiet minutes it takes for the dull ache in his muscles and the even more faint one in his heart to settle enough for him to drift off into dreamless sleep, he wonders if this is really all life has to offer.

It has to be.

...

Right?

🔅

Nanami wakes up before his alarm has the chance to ring.

His body rises with the sun, its rays bleeding in through the fabric curtains at the window in his bedroom, and he rolls over onto his side to feel around for his cell phone, unplugs it, and checks for the time. He doesn't trust himself to be able to wake up a second time with only a few minutes until he's meant to actually get up, so with a yawn, he slips out of bed, puts on his house slippers, and drags himself to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

As he's brushing, he lets his mind drift until a swipe of toothpaste slips out of his mouth and falls onto the floor. He frowns, toothbrush still between his lips, and he reaches down with a paper towel to clean it. He's not allowed to move around lethargically anymore, acutely aware of the need to keep things clean so he doesn't have to come home to a mess at the end of the day, so instead of dreaming about the perfect breads he'd pair with the most perfect jams and the most perfect butters, he plans out his day.

What day of the week is it, again?

Maybe today's Monday? Tuesday, even?

Probably Monday. The weekend rush was noticeable enough yesterday.

He supposes it's hardly relevant, though, so he'll just figure it out later. It'd only matter if it were a Wednesday or a Thursday because those are his days off, but he knows it's not either of those days because he usually has to do laundry by then, and, right now, the bin's only three-fourths of the way full with clothes stained by cell sap.

No matter, he has to get to work soon, then get home after work, then make himself dinner, tidy up again, go to sleep again.

After gathering his bearings, he stands over the sink and spits out the pale blue mix of toothpaste suds and morning mouth grime. He runs his hands underneath the running water quickly, flicks his wrists to help dry them, and he runs his cold hands over his face to help keep himself awake as he gets ready. After he's made sure everything's been locked up properly and just as he likes it in the morning, he puts on a dress shirt, dress pants, dress socks, his watch, the non-slip deck shoes Yaga practically shoved Nanami's feet into when he found out he had been wearing oxfords to the shop up until that point, and he's on his way out the door with a cup of peach yogurt in one hand and his keys in the other. In his bag is a tupperware container with last night's leftovers and his wallet, and that's about all he needs for his day.

The route from his apartment to work is one that's fully planned and practiced by now: get on the highway, get on the ramp to the eastward route, exit, drive extra slow to not startle the elderly woman who owns the laundromat right next to the shop, and park directly underneath a tree that keeps his car cool for the duration of its stay there. By now, he's gotten pretty good at remembering which stoplights give him enough time to spoon himself some yogurt without spilling any of it, so once he's parked and collected all the things he needs for the day, he gets out of the car, unlocks the door because he's almost always the first person to arrive, and rushes to clock in and rinse the container to use as a seedling pot for the many greens they need growing in the back room.

Well, that's it.

That's his morning.

He'll spend the rest of it restocking the arrangement area because nobody else that works mornings here is tall enough to safely reach the cellophane rolls that they keep on top of the cabinets. He's the newest person at the shop so he's left with the grunt work most of the time, but he doesn't mind it—it's easy enough, and he knows he's not artistic enough to really be trusted with arrangements (on his own, at least; some of the younger associates will ask him for his help when making bouquets with "old people" in mind, and he doesn't have the heart to, one, turn them down, and, two, tell them that twenty-seven really isn't old at all).

He checks the schedule as he passes by to get his apron, seeing that it's Monday, and that Yaga's posted up a checklist of the things they need done for the week. There's also a longer list naming all the people who'll come and go throughout the week (which isn't really what Nanami expected when he first started working here, but he's picked up fairly quickly that it takes a village and more to keep a flower shop running, so doesn't really give it much thought anymore). There's a few names he recognizes, others that he doesn't, but he should know everyone that's coming in today, at least.

While Nanami's filling up a smaller bucket at the sink to have a well to draw from and water the greens, someone comes in through the back door, and Nanami looks over his shoulder to see Ino, arms full with coffee for himself, his laptop, and a few other miscellaneous gadgets. He's probably the person Nanami's worked the most with here (at least, if he excludes the time he spends trying to explain derivatives to Itadori; the boy is hopeless, but Nanami admires his determination regardless).

"Ah, good morning, Nanami!" Ino exclaims, rushing to put his things down anywhere he can.

Nanami lifts his hand to greet the younger man back. "Morning."

"Closing go okay yesterday?"

He nods, leaning over to turn off the faucet. "It was fine."

Ino doesn’t ask any other questions and just puts on his own apron, comes over to the sink, and offers to help take out the bucket so Nanami doesn’t spill it while it’s full. The blonde gives him a tight-lipped smile as he grabs onto the opposite end so Ino can hold onto the other side, and the two near effortlessly lift it out of the tub. After that and another smile, Ino leaves him to himself to go check for any orders that might've been placed during last night's non-working hours. Nanami isn't anywhere near the level of floristry where he can accurately fulfill an order like that anyway, so he's just glad that Ino's there and can handle them while Nanami does the grunt work and waits for more people to come in.

Regardless, there’s no real rush to get a move-on, seeing as nobody’s exactly rushing to get flowers on a Monday at seven in the morning, so the two men work in silence while more people cycle in through the door and get clocked in. Ordered arrangements ranging from personal bouquets to larger fulfillments of wedding orders and funeral flowers are put together at the designing stations while Nanami works in the background, picking up phone calls, updating order statuses, making sure customers are tended to.

Even though it's hardly peak times, there's still far too much to do, though, and Nanami finds himself running around earlier than he'd expected himself to be. It's really a blur of things that happen once the initial line gets built up at the front of the store: foam needs to be presoaked practically every other minute, people keep needing help at the register, someone needs to sign off on a delivery, and it's usually the blonde sent off to do those things.

And, just like that, the morning has eclipsed.

Like clockwork (because, well, it is clocked work), the morning workers swap out with those who come later in the day, and this is usually when Nanami takes his lunch because there's not really any other time that's going to work. Any earlier, and there's going to be so many people coming in and out of the break room that the ambiance he needs to enjoy his meal is ruined, and any later, he'll be too full for dinner in the evening and his whole routine will be pushed back.

After grabbing his lunch from the minifridge in the break room and heating it up in the barely-working microwave, Nanami sits by himself and soaks in the quiet that's barely given to him with the thin walls and the loud chatter between some of the younger, high school-aged employees that've just clocked in after coming out of class. He almost always takes his lunch alone because everyone else orders out and Nanami doesn't quite have the budget to get takeout five days a week, but, occasionally, Ino will invite him out, and even though Nanami will only come along if there's the promise of a comfy booth to sit in and ease the pain in his feet, he usually has it in him to do that every once in a while.

Ino has class on Mondays, though, so Nanami's taking it alone today.

Again.

But that's par for the course.

He'd eat lunch alone in his old cubicle, too, and he supposes not much has changed about him in the three months since he's swapped work environments.

As he pokes at the broth-soaked rice, he leans against his palm. He hasn't got much of an appetite, what with the smell of fertilizer and sap in just the next room over, but he eats anyway because he hasn't got much of a choice in the matter. He'll get off work a bit earlier today than he did yesterday because he doesn't need to handle the bookkeeping every single day, but he knows he'll be just as tired and that he'll have to at least stay energized enough to survive the early-evening rush of less-than-respectable men who want to buy the cheapest flowers they can for their wives at home—he'd envy them if he didn't find them so deplorable.

Just as he's putting the tupperware lid over his now-emptied container, someone comes through the fabric curtain after knocking on the doorframe.

"Hey, stopping by to ask if you'd like us to bring anything back for you," Kugisaki chimes in. "We're getting dumplings from the place down the street!"

Nanami looks up at the girl from his seat and raises his hand in gentle refusal. "It's alright, thank you for offering."

"You sure? We don't mind paying, you help us with our homework all the time."

"'Us,' as in, 'you and Itadori,' don't include me in this," the younger Fushiguro scolds, passing through the break room to refill his water bottle. "Good afternoon, Nanami."

Nanami waves at him with a gentle smile. "Afternoon to you too, Fushiguro."

"Yeah, yeah, nerd, me and Itadori've got it covered," Kugisaki rolls her eyes at her friend, then turning back to address Nanami. "C'mon, you really don't want anything? They have great gyoza!"

"I'm fine, I already ate. You kids go ahead and-"

"Are we ready to go yet? I'm starving-" the pink-haired boy pauses, eyes landing on Nanami as he gets up to put his lunch container away. "Oh, hi Nanamin! Sorry I didn't greet you when I clocked in, I had to help out someone in the front."

"No worries, good afternoon."

"Hey, what'd you get on the bio test earlier?"

"Better than you, that's for sure."

"Hey! How's that possible, we used the same study guide!"

"I got help from Maki during lunch."

"No fair! I had a club meeting!"

Itadori and Kugisaki bicker between themselves as Nanami joins Fushiguro at the sink to wash his dishes, and the younger ravenette passes him the bottle of dish soap. "Here."

"Oh, thank you."

Fushiguro grabs a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe the run-off from his water bottle, frowning slightly with what looks like embarrassment. "Sorry, we'll be on our way out soon."

Nanami hums as he scrubs at the tupperware. "No rush." Not that he minds their presence in the first place, they're good kids, even if two of the three are a bit... scatterbrained.

After he gets all the leftover suds off, Nanami flicks his wrist to get off the excess water and leave it on the drying rack, and his eyes follow Fushiguro as he joins his friends at the door.

"Well, see you in a bit!"

The young man smiles gently while waving goodbye to the trio, then turning back to the sink to wash his hands. Their voices, loud and chipper as they talk amongst themselves, fade out as they leave through the back door, which closes loudly behind them.

It must be nice to be so... carefree.

Nanami dries his hands with the last bit of clean fabric of his apron, and he gets back to work.

Now that it's later in the afternoon, his tasks shift from prep and phone calls to helping out more at the front. Famously, he's never been a man of many words, but that hardly matters when customers seem to flock to him anyway for help picking out bouquets and other miscellaneous gifts to buy and bring home. He still does his fair share of running around, trying to make himself useful, but, nevertheless, to keep the rest of his colleagues from having to direct their attention to the more run-of-the-mill business when they have other, more pressing projects to take care of, Nanami keeps a smile on his face as he directs people to what he can only guess they're looking for. The younger trio come back from their meal somewhere in-between all that, and the day passes by both quickly and slowly with how much has to be done to keep the place running. He has more than enough breaks throughout the day to decompress in the freezing cold quarters, but somehow his legs are still screaming at him and he's hardly got a second to breathe meaningfully.

But, thankfully, he's not closing today, so as soon as the clock strikes a modest six in the evening, Nanami's hanging up his apron and reaching for his keys in his pocket. He waves goodbye to anyone awake enough to realize he's even leaving (which, truthfully, isn't that many people because closing really is draining enough on its own, even if it isn't so late that nobody ever really ends up staying past eight or so), and he sits in his car until he's sure he's confident enough he can drive safely and with enough feeling in his feet that he'll be able to feel the pedals.

As he's driving home, his hands drift to the twelve and seven, too lazy to keep themselves at the disciplined two and ten. His mind drifts off to think about the routine he's grown into over the past three years, more-so because there's not much else to think about, less-so because it's too daunting to think of much else while he's behind the wheel, until, just as the sun's hitting his pupils, he wonders if it'd be worth the effort to try again today—to make the quick, quiet drive over to the bakery, step out of the car, and pick out something sweet to bring home and eat with what's going to inevitably be a boring, tasteless meal.

Would it really be worth the effort?

...

Would it?

It's hard to tell. Between all the other decisions he'll have to make today, choosing from the mundane and the even more meaningless, this one thing seems to hang over him, taunting him with the promise of something too good for him and something equally not good enough for him.

He'd already been let down yesterday. His car still faintly smells of the coffee that marred his chance at something that'd make him a tiny bit happier, and he doesn't know how much more dull heartbreak he can endure. His body aches enough with the burden of work and the surreal, sinking feeling that he's doing nothing worthwhile with his life, even after putting everything on the line to change that.

At the same time, he's taken a lot; a moment more of it isn't going to hurt him anymore than not doing anything at all. He's a third of a decade into desire, and he's survived keeping the one thing he can depend on actually making him happy away at arm's length for this long.

...

Sure, then.

It'd be worth the effort.

And, just like that, as soon as he's made the decision to make the tiny detour on the way home to stop by a bakery that has no more promise than what his own imagination has given itself, that feeling is back.

He feels like he's breathing in cinnamon as he follows the curve of the road, cautious to not take such deep breaths but unable to keep in the quiet excitement. The sun glares at him through his windshield, but he can hardly feel bothered by it—he'll rue it later as he's biting into a bread bun in about a half-hour's time. The moon, present in the sky in time to kiss the sun across the clouds, looks like an almond wedding cookie, dusted and deepened with craters marked like dimples. His mouth is starting to water, and as he kisses his teeth, he can feel himself smiling.

It's almost maddening, how... easy it seems to feel happy.

Is that the right way to describe this feeling? Happiness?

It's such a fickle feeling, so easy to pull out of thin air. Practically a figment of his imagination as it stitches itself into a quilt quietly in his passenger seat.

And, like the universe wants to teach him a lesson, it's taken away from him just as suddenly.

His phone starts ringing, and, already connected to the car's sound system, Nanami sees no reason not to answer as he pulls into the adjacent parking lot for the bakery. The call's coming from his landlord, but he 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other line belongs to someone he doesn't know. "Good evening, is this Nanami?"

No reason to expect that his landlord has his contact saved when there's dozens of other tenants. "Yes, any particular reason you're calling?"

"Yes, just phoning you to let you know that your unit won't have water in about two hours or so. There's an issue with the plumbing on your floor and we have people coming to fix that soon, but it shouldn't take too long to get it resolved."

Great. That's exactly what Nanami wants to hear right now. "How long do you think it'll be out?"

"A couple hours, at most. Maybe three or four? We're really sorry, but we'll be covering the repair fee and as much of the floor's utility bill as we can for the month, so we hope it isn't too much of an inconvenience."

Well, if anything at all, at least his landlord's reasonable enough to provide adequate compensation.

He sighs as he weighs out the options he has in his head.

He can either stay here, spend the next half-hour or so getting a few pastries and breads to take home and eat in an otherwise soulless apartment, twiddling his thumbs until the water comes back on so he can shower and get the infinite layers of dirt and plantwater off his skin while he fights off sleep and exhaustion long enough to make it back to a clean bed, or, he can rush home, make dinner quickly enough to be able to have running water to even wash the dishes with before the food dries onto them, shower, and go to bed earlier than he usually does.

It's not a hard decision to make. He knows he has to choose the latter; he's too tired to wait out the repair time, and he'll just end up spread out on the floor to keep the furniture from sullying anyway and tomorrow will be made that much worse with the knowledge that he's choosing a chance at happiness over the convenience of what he knows will always work.

Still, it doesn't make it any easier.

"Hello?"

Nanami blinks himself out of his thoughts, and he clears his throat while looking around his car to make sure it's safe to back out. "Yes, I'm still here. Thank you for letting me know."

"Again, so sorry for the inconvenience, but it should be resolved soon. Let us know if you need any further assistance."

"Sure. Thank you, have a good evening."

"Thank you, you-"

Nanami hangs up before the other line can finish, and he frowns as he turns the engine back on again and puts his hand on the gear shift.

Maybe another day, then.

Maybe, then, he can forget this faint pinch at his heart that's begging to be taken care of.

🔅

Third time's the charm, people say. That, on the third go-around at something, it'll work out all fine and dandy.

Well, they're just plain wrong.

Nanami groans into the palm of his hand, head downturned and elbow digging into his chest.

"What do you mean 'closed for repairs?'" He whispers to himself.

He'd waited. He'd been patient. He'd been easy on himself. It's been three years, three months, and three days of trying to get something from this small, out-of-the-way bakery.

And, still, somehow, all that waiting has amounted to nothing.

He can feel the stares of people passing by, slowing their paces to watch him wallow in the small self-afforded agony he's ended up in. People walk around him, but he's very self-aware of the fact that he's so tall that he'll attract attention no matter what situation he's in, so he just stands firm where he is and accepts that his shame is palpable enough to be seen by strangers who've caught him in such an unfortunate state. He can't really bring himself to move out of the way, feet already at the foot of the ramp leading up to the door, so he just breathes slowly as disappoint seeps from his veins.

The sticky note hung up on the walls of his heart falls with the realization that it's about as useful as a whisk for water. It's a simple affair, one that starts and ends immediately with the event unfolding at his feet, but one that still pains him all the same.

He supposes that he can't really even be mad at anyone but himself for making it all the way out here without checking if it was even open. He'd made the decision to come out here on his day off, all other errands accounted for and completed, on a complete whim, so it's really his fault that he wasn't careful enough in planning the one thing he's actually been trying to do for the last 

He's not even sure why he's so fixated on making this happen right soon. It seems like, for so long, it'd escaped his mind—the desire to explore the bare remnants of what he remembers making him happy—and, now, he can't find himself to commit to anything else.

Is he such a failure that he can't even do this one thing right?

He knows he'll have to move out of the way and go home at some point. There's nothing he can do other than admit defeat.

There's no fanfare. No parade to tell him that he's at least tried. Not like he even really wants there to be one, but what's there to even accompany the effort he's put into the very simple, asinine. meaningless desire to get something from this bakery?

...

Can he really even call it effort?

All he has to show for this desire is a spilled coffee stain on his car console, a new stitch on his shirt, and uncomfortably pitiful looks from what feels like the entire population of this wretched city.

...

Well, that's alright.

He hasn't got much to show for anything else, anyway. This can't shake him; he won't let it.

If nothing else, he has enough hope that things will sort themselves out, and he'll get what he wants one day. That's what he's banking on with every other aspect of his life, anyway.

That, maybe, one day, he'll get to try something from here.

His feet move on their own, dragging him back to his car and through a sea of bodies he know are judging him. But he'll find himself here again, under better circumstances, someday later. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to keep at least something in his life worth moving on for.

That, maybe, one day, he'll change enough to be okay with disruptions to his routine.

He clicks on the ignition in his car after gingerly putting on his seatbelt, and he hooks his arm over onto the backside of his passenger side headrest to back out the parking space. His foot hovers over the brake pedal until he's fully matched up with the mirrors of the cars next to him, and he just about runs off when he's shifted into drive. He isn't sure how to get to the next place he needs to go to avoid traffic and construction work on the road, and it's working up enough of a sweat to think that this is yet another thing that's off about his day, as if it isn't already enough as it is. But, someday later, he'll be better at not feeling this way. Even if isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not let the feeling regress into a scarier apathy towards change.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be able to face himself at the end of the day with the thought that what he's doing with his life is worth not being able to enjoy a piece of bread he can't be sure is even good until then.

He makes it back to the apartment, cleans up around the place, makes a tasteless dinner for one, takes a shower that's too long. He's worked all day today, so it's fine that he stands under the running, steaming water for a near-hour, wishing he could be anyone else, anywhere else. He slips into bed, hair still wet because he doesn't care enough to wait for it to dry, and he stares up at the ceiling to pray that sleep will come fast enough to give him an out in having to think about what he's really doing with his life. But, someday later, this won't be the case, and he knows he can finally watch the stars without shame on his balcony. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not feel so ashamed about not being able to have the one thing in life he thinks could complete him.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be happy.

He'll come home at the end of the day to a home, well-loved and filled with pastries afforded by the wealth of a career he knows he's allowed to be proud of. His feet will not ache, he won't wish for something he doesn't know he wants, and he can sleep at night knowing that there's more to life than the mundane and the meaningless. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself this so he has something to hold onto. What else is there to drive him? He's already trialed the life he dreamt of, and that wasn't enough, so this lie has to be.

Yeah, one day he'll have the world, and he'll be content.

One day.

🔅

(next update will be sep 14! thank you for reading :D)

[iwanttobeaseme]

Pov: You insisted to style Nanami's hair.

Ps. There are still 5 slots left for August comms!

[eunwhore]

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ "𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧" (𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐏𝐎𝐕)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. In which you send "Don't text my daughter again." to your lover just to see his reaction and have a good laugh about it.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. Geto is unhinged, Toji as well, Gojo too (all of them are tbh, especially Sukuna)

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Nanami; Gojo; Toji; Megumi; Sukuna; Yuji and Geto

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @dearmymoon @lacopinedechan - 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

© eunwhore 2023. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

[ebaltika]

thinking about the nanami-wakaba parallels

[husbandograveyard]

Hi! Could I request L from the fluff ABC’s for Nanami??

Thanks in advance!

Hiya! sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoy this! <3

2nd person. GN reader. No warnings, loads of fluff

 L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

is pretty upfront about his feelings. While he struggles with truly getting attached to people (especially in the sorcerer's job, it is such a risky occupation), there is nothing that can stop feelings, and he will not actively deny himself the joys that love can bring. 

He will wait it out a little, but only a little, just to see if it’s not just fleeting attraction or a mere crush because something you did specifically attracted him, and to gauge if you have any interest in him at all. 

And then he will ask you out: plain and simple as that. He will ask you out on a date, and be pretty upfront about it being one with romantic purposes. No pressure, and no obligations, he manages to word it in a way that you don’t feel worried about accepting the invitation, the opposite actually, as his straightforwardness makes it really easy to just accept everything he says as it is. 

It takes a little longer for him to actually say that he loves you though. While his attachment grows, feeling pure love, and actually calling it that, takes a little while. When he finally does say it, it's right after you’ve shared a kiss. He’ll be looking you straight in the eyes, still holding you, not fully pulled back and smiling ever so slightly. It’ll be almost an observational “I love you”, as if he’s always known, but only now found the words to express it.

This is part of my AB(C)-Day event! Click here to join!

[mimiriko]

being neighbors with nanami and obligated to interact because your dogs suddenly became best friends. whenever one of you catches the other, you’re forced to stand awkwardly and watch your dog leap and run to his. you think you might have even seen a silver of a smile on his face as both of you try to haggle and turn them around.

it eventually turns into walking in the park together—watching them bark from behind, wagging their tails as they run off in the direction of the ball you and nanami take turns throwing. you pretend you don’t feel your stomach doing somersaults when he cleans the saliva from the ball with his handkerchief before handing it to you.

play dates on the weekend become regular. looked forward to. you share how you keep your dog’s breath smelling bearable and he recommends healthier food brands. you don’t know when you started going off topic. you don’t know when you started spraying perfume, or when you notice his hair is styled more than usual. sometimes, you find yourself stuck staring at the rich blue of his eyes, the sharp cuts of his jaw and the pink of his lips, before a loud bark from somewhere in the house startles you back to earth.

the day you decide you would ask him to dinner properly, without any pets, is the day he shows up alone and tells you yoshiko—his dog—is pregnant.

[dnadraws99]

POV: he's been tailing you for days because you're a curse user.

[ennaakat]

I was tormented by the spirits until I made this

[chunkypotatosnuggs]

It’s 9pm and I feel like garbage so here’s… (sorry it’s all about soup, I really want soup)

JJK Taking Care of You When You’re Hungover!

Yuji: *gets together all the ingredients to cook you the soup you asked for, gets overwhelmed halfway through. Makes ramen and demands that he feeds you. Then lays down with you*

Gojo: *orders you soup, electrolytes drink, water, medicine, a fuzzy blanket. makes sure your phone is plugged in and within reach. moves the trash can next to your bed. Tells you to text him if you need anything else*

Megumi: *makes you soup but not the one you wanted because it’ll be troublesome if you get sick. Scolds you for drinking and not taking proper care of yourself but will still get you something if you ask for it (just not without a little complaining*

Nobara: *just as hungover as you. argues with you on what food to order.*

Toge: *searches for hangover remedies and what’s best to eat when you’re hungover. Brings you food, drinks and medicine throughout the day based on his research*

Maki: *heats up canned soup for you and makes toast incase the soup is too hard on your stomach. Reminds you to eat slowly and don’t eat until full.*

Geto: *brings you soup and treats from the convenience store and will put on some water to boil but you have to make the soup/ramen yourself. Lowkey watches over you to make sure you’re doing it right*

Toji: *tries to follow a recipe for soup and starts burning it so you step in and help. Tells you he was more than capable of doing it himself but doesn’t stop you*

Nanami: *orders you soup and everything you need but acts as if it’s a hassle. Goes to leave once you have everything but caves at you asking him to play video games/watch movies/cuddle because it’ll make you happy*

Mahito: *brings soup and eats it in front of you to see how you’ll react*

Choso: *brings you food and sends you the bill for it*

Junpei: *brings you food that will be light on your stomach. Sits with you until you fall asleep*

Sukuna: *brings you spicy food but doesn’t tell you. Rants to you about how spicy food is good for hangovers. Makes you finish the food before giving you fruit juice/water*

(I didn’t do all the characters I wanted because there are a lot! Also these are my perceptions of their personalities. If something isn’t canon, sorry not sorry.)

[dax-enfinity]

Outsiders POV but it’s just Shoko and the gang causing trouble almost every weekend while attending Tokyo Jujutsu Tech

It happens so often that people in Tokyo near those areas are like:

“Does anyone know what the hell do they teach at that school?!”

“Did you see those kids uniforms? That’s an expensive private boarding school at best!”

“Sure I’ve heard about those kids but, is it multiple students from the same school or just the same group?”

“Same group, last I heard that school’s got a very low acceptance rate, so it’s the same group every time.”

“Mind describing them? I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere…”

“Four boys and one girl, There’s this serious blonde boy, another boy who’s pretty wholesome actually, and the other two boys seem to be the closest to the girl.”

“The other two? What’s with the other two boys?”

“Those two seem to be the tallest of the group, one looks like he belongs in a host club of all things, straight up ikemen boy, he’s got white hair of all things and wears some expensive sunglasses all the time. The other one is straight up just a metal head, long black hair, pierced ears, and smokes, he fits more of a bad boy type of guy.”

“Wait! Those were the kids that raided that convenience store and got kicked out of an arcade last weekend right?”

“What about the parents?”

“Does it look like I know? They’re private boarding school students, does it seem like the parents live in Tokyo or they know what those kids are up to?”

“That’s true…”

They cause so many complaints that people are starting to get concerned for those kids

[dansconcepts]

Quirky RC!Hajime - Erasure

Have a Reserve Course Hajime canceling Ultimates as if they were quirks. It's yet another silly post with no logic whatsoever. "Cancelling Ultimates", in this case, is just causing Ultimates to be less interested in their passion or, in Nagito's case, nullify strange luck occurrences.

Being at Hope’s Peak is honestly a blessing. This school is so reputable that it doesn’t matter that Hajime's not an Ultimate, there’s definitely a way he could become successful. Even though being an Ultimate would be…

He bumps into someone and his papers fall. “I’m sorry-”

“Watch where you’re going, Reserve Course,” sneers a white-haired guy. What the hell? Green eyes land on a brown uniform. Double what the hell? 

Fuck you. Hajime growls internally. 

“Right, sorry about that.” He says instead. Might as well be the bigger person.

“You should be.” The Ultimate scowls, dusting himself off. 

Nevermind. “Hey, what's your problem?”

“You should know your place. You’re scum of this Earth, a mere peasant, but that’d be generous of a title... you're barely even worthy of being a stepping stone, no, even a damn pebble to us Ultimates.” He replies snootily. What a dick.

The desire to shove him is visceral, but Hajime's got a tuition that isn’t going to pay for itself. He grits his teeth. “I didn’t realize all Ultimates were assholes.”

“Only to the ones that deserve it.” 

Fuck. 

This.

Guy. 

His fists clench. 

Scholarship. This was your dream.

Hajime's hands loosen. He glares at the other guy and turns on his heel. 

SHWING!

Is he resorting to throwing things now? What a child. Forget it. I don’t care. I have a test soon anyway. 

Not all Ultimates could be like that, right? Hajime frowns. He can't ignore the way his stomach plummeted at the interaction, the strange way his heart sank when he was so readily dismissed.

…Maybe this is why the saying “Don’t meet your heroes” exists.

Meanwhile, Nagito's left standing with his mouth wide open.

Did he… see that correctly? It reminded him of his luck, the way that the gray metal swung overhead, looking to land on the Reserve Course student’s head. He was thinking about “what a mess to clean up that would be”, internally cursing his luck for dirtying the grounds of Hope’s Peak with blood (the Reserve Course student wouldn't have even deserved it, no matter what he said), but instead it just- didn't? hit him? And launched itself into the ground next to where the other was standing before?

He’s never observed anything like it. His luck likes to force low probabilities into reality, but he’s never seen something completely ignore physics. 

And all around a Reserve Course student.

How... strange.

He shrugs it off, but his gaze lingers on the dark suit walking away.

[He doesn't believe in coincidences.]

✃ ┈┈┈┈ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

A brunette sits on a fountain, playing on her GameGirl. Hajime scrutinizes her warily when he approaches, but she continues staring at her console. He shrugs. That’s not his problem, he’s just here to eat lunch. The white-haired Ultimate rings through his mind, and he eyes her brown uniform distastefully. He knows the idea of an Ultimate Gamer sounds like a really cool person to talk to, and she looks nice, but so did the other guy, so…

Normally, Hajime would try to avoid her, but the campus is only so big for Reserve Course students and this is his spot. He ensures to sit a few feet away from her and digs into the eggs he made for himself. Man, being on a budget is rough. He grabs a spoonful of egg and rice and

Beep! 

Instinctively, he tilts his head to the sound. Her GameGirl is closed, so she must’ve turned it off. God, now he’s missing his old console. It sucks he left it when he came to Hope’s Peak. While in his thoughts, he does catch the girl blinking and looking confused. Right, definitely not his problem. He lifts his spoon again. 

“Um, hello.” The Ultimate again prevents him from eating.

He sighs. Are all Ultimates really this rude? 

He sends an admittedly pointed look at her, who has set aside her game completely, considering it’s nowhere in sight on the fountain. Wasn’t gaming her talent? Was his existence seriously bothering her so much she had to put down her game? “Look, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to eat. I can leave if it’s bothering you that bad, but you could at least be direct about it.”

“I’m not bothered.” She answers. “I just want to talk, I think.”

His eyebrows furrow. Talk? “About… what? Your games?”

She hums. “I normally would like to, but no, not really.” She hums some more. “Oh, actually, I’m tired.” 

The girl yawns, and lays her head on her bag and her legs on the fountain.

Some talk that was. Was he that boring? They barely even had a back and forth! Ultimates are so damn confusing…

He looks down at her sleeping form and sighs. He can’t just leave her here asleep by herself. Who knows what could happen? 

Well, at least he gets to eat. He finishes his food and checks his phone. Next period is going to start in 10. 

The girl is still asleep. Hmm. Is no one seriously looking for her? Besides that, doesn’t she have any friends from her class? Where the hell are they? 

He could take her back to the Ultimate building, but no one will take too kindly to that.

Damn. What the hell does he do? 

“Hey.” He says.

No response. 

“Hey.”

Still nothing.

He jostles her shoulder slightly.

That does the trick, and she blinks up bleary-eyed at him. 

“I don’t know how your class schedule works, but next period is about to start for me.”

She tilts her head. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He flinches. “Fair enough I guess, geez. I was worried about leaving you alone in your sleep, because you’re being left vulnerable, you know? But clearly I shouldn’t have bothered thinking any Ultimate would be grateful.”

And he stomps out. 

Chiaki watches him storm away with a pout. She was just confused and wanted clarification…

He does seem to have a low opinion of Ultimates. Why would that be? Maybe a bad interaction with someone else who’s an Ultimate? Did he enter a flashback sequence because she triggered something? 

Right, she paused mid-level for some reason. She pulls out her GameGirl. The Reserve Course student lore unlocking could wait, she needs to 100% this level. 

[masonmace]

Thinking about being prof!Nanami’s little teacher’s pet… sitting pretty under his desk as he grades papers. Only to be man handled over his desk after. Put into my place after class, for doing that to him as he was lecturing students.

Ughhh pleaseee!! Should I write this? TELL MEEE

[nicht-vobla]

Combined my two favourite things about jjk s2: op color scheme and ah THAT scene

[lifewtr]

Until Then (Sometimes)

2. Ripping a fourth orgasm out of him feels very, very tempting.

And yet, Kento refrains. Only leans in and kisses Satoru softer this time; coaxes him back to pliant and lax with long, soothing swipes of his palm up and down his side. With gentle butterfly kisses across his jaw and down his neck. Soft whispers of sweet nothings.

Satoru settles back into the bed with a little hum; a quiet, happy sound that makes Kento’s heart do a lot more than just simply twist.

Kento reaches over and flicks the bedside lamp off, lets Satoru bury his face against his shoulder, and then finally lets that satisfied fatigue make his body nice and heavy, his mind nice and quiet—calm, despite all of the thinking he knows he has to do—all of the thinking that he should be doing..

“Hey, Nanamin?” Satoru’s voice is soft and sleepy as it cuts through the soft dark, only slightly muffled from where he’s tucked away.

“Hm?”

A pause. “..Tonight... was..”

Kento’s heart fucking aches. He hasn’t been hiding, not even in the slightest bit over the last few months—but has he finally been caught..? Caught, like he has been silently hoping for after all of this time?—but Satoru is fading fast against him, breaths starting to fall evenly with each exhale.

“Yeah,” Kento admits quietly, “it.. it was.”

Another pause.

“...Nanamin..”

“Shh, Satoru,” Kento leans down and plants a soft kiss on his temple; another at his hairline, reassuring. “Rest,” he tells the angel at his side. “Tomorrow,” he promises.

‘Tomorrow,’ he promises it to himself, too, swears it as he lets his ears tune into steady lungs next to his own; closes his eyes against the dark. ‘Tomorrow,’ he swears, ‘I will tell him.’

Until then..?

“Okay.” Satoru yawns, snuggling further against him, sweet and content. “G’night, Ken.”

Kento buries his nose in starlight hair with a sigh.

“Goodnight, angel.”

full chapter on AO3 ♥

[husbandograveyard]

I seriously considered asking for someone else this time... but I have Nanami on the brain. Sorry babe, I'm asking for him again 😘 how about F from the smutty alphabet this time? I love me a good giggle

Okay, but I did have a lot of fun writing this one actually, the visual is just a little too funny. I hope you like it!

2nd person. GN reader. Minors DNI

F - Fails - A moment where awkwardness took over in the bedroom / a fail that’s rather funny

Nanami sometimes underestimates his own strength. It’s not that he doesn’t realize just how strong he is -he is pretty aware of it, actually- but it’s just that he sometimes gets a little too lost in the moment, losing focus when his mind is only focused on pleasure and you, and then sometimes… there’s things breaking, like your bed. 

The minute it happened, he didn’t even realize, so lost in the ecstasy of the moment. But the minute it was over, and the damage was already done (and becoming painfully obvious, the dent in the mattress was not meant to be this deep), the awkwardness settled in amidst mostly confusion. 

“Did you-” “I think I-” 

You’re the first to laugh about it. Starting with a snicker and then full on belly laughter, as the mere idea is just absolutely hilarious. The fact that you’ll have to buy new bed slats is a side note that you’ll worry about later as you snuggle into him, still laughing about what had just happened. 

You thinking this is absolutely hilarious does help ease his mind a little, as he looked mortified the minute he realized. He promises he’ll make it up to you during aftercare, whispering the promise as he kisses your temple, and it makes you laugh all over again, earning a chuckle from him in return -the moment is pretty silly after all.

This is part of my AB(C)-Day event! Click here to join!

[zukkaoru]

For the ask meme: yuuji + nanami, "you would've been a great teacher, though"

“You would’ve been a great teacher, though.” Yuuji doesn’t really mean to say that aloud—it just slips out of his mouth as things often do. Nanami freezes. Briefly, Yuuji debates about taking it back, but— No. He meant it. And Nanami deserves to know that Yuuji appreciates him. “Perhaps,” he agrees, voice distant. “In another life.” There is a sadness to the words that Yuuji doesn’t like; a grief he has heard laced through Megumi and Ieiri’s speech as well. An ever-present mourning unique to sorcerers. Yuuji swallows. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you make a pretty good teacher in this life, too. Even if you’re not technically employed as one.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, maybe you’re not teaching me algebra or whatever, but…it’s not like polynomials are going to help me much now. I understand cursed energy more now than I did before I met you, and…I dunno. You taught me that it’s okay that I’m still a kid. So…thanks.” “…Of course,” Nanami replies stiffly. But as he turns away, Yuuji catches sight of a faint smile.

send me a ship + a sentence and i’ll write the next five(ish) sentences