"shh, guys i hear him," you say, and the whole living room goes still at once. gojo looks far too pleased with himself, yuji is practically vibrating with excitement, nobara is already glaring at the crooked banner that she's been trying to fix the whole time, and megumi—poor, poor, megumi—has the expression of a man who knew from the beginning that he would be the only responsible one in the room.
it isn't some huge, extravagant party. it's just the five of you, a cake, a few decorations, and the living room of the home you share with nanami, but that's exactly why it matters. he never asks for much, never makes a fuss, never expects anyone to celebrate him. so this time, you wanted something just for him.
buttt keeping it a secret from nanami has still been nearly impossible. he has always had that unnerving ability to read you, so the week leading up to his birthday feels like walking through a minefield in socks. every excuse you've made to cover up your weird behavior comes out clumsy and stitched together with nervous laughter.
but every time, nanami simply hums, presses a kiss to your forehead, and says nothing. somehow, that makes it worse. because if he knows, he isn't telling you. and you desperately want him to have one day where he doesn't have to anticipate everyone else's needs. one day where someone takes care of him.
the planning, thankfully, is simple. with only a handful of people and the whole thing happening in the living room, there isn't much to arrange beyond the things that matter. gojo is there because he cannot resist a dramatic reveal and, for once, he swore he would be useful.
yuji is there because he thinks birthdays are sacred, he nearly cried when you told him that you wanted him there. nobara is there because she refuses to let anything look ugly and megumi is there because someone has to keep the other three from turning the entire thing into a disaster, of course. between the four of them, you manage to pull together exactly what nanami would never ask for but absolutely deserves: a cake he likes, a few strings of warm fairy lights, a simple banner, and a small stack of photos that make the whole room feel like a memory.
fast forward to the living room on the afternoon of his birthday. soft golden fairy lights are draped along the windows and across the mantle, warm enough to make the whole space glow as evening settles outside. a few white lilies sit in a glass vase on the coffee table. the cake rests on the dining table, neat and understated, exactly the kind of thing he would pretend not to care about while secretly appreciating every detail. photographs are tucked along the shelves and mantle, depicting both funny and sentimental memories of nanami over the years.
your eyes keep drifting toward the front door where nanami will walk in after another long day. your stomach twists with nervous excitement, not because you're worried the decorations aren't pretty enough or the cake won't taste good, but because loving nanami has always felt like trying to repay a debt you'll never truly settle.
how do you thank someone who has made your entire life feel safer? someone who remembers exactly how you take your coffee, who warms your side of the bed before you climb in during winter, who quietly brushes your hair behind your ear while you're reading because he knows you hate when it falls in your face? birthdays suddenly seem impossibly small compared to everything he's given you.
the sound of his key sliding into the lock freezes the entire room. every conversation dies instantly. while everyone scrambles to find a hiding spot, megumi reaches for the light switch. you stand just behind the doorway, heart pounding so loudly you're convinced nanami will hear it before he even opens the door. then it swings inward. he steps inside, loosening his tie with one hand, briefcase still hanging from the other, exhaustion written into every line of his posture. for one impossibly quiet second, he simply blinks at the dark living room. then every light flicks on.
"surprise!"
the shout practically rattles the windows.
nanami eyes slightly widen, his hand instinctively moving toward his back before stopping.
silence hangs for a heartbeat before the smallest smile begins to bloom across his face. it starts at the corner of his lips before reaching his eyes, melting away every ounce of fatigue he'd carried through the front door. you cross the room before he can say anything, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face against the familiar warmth of his suit.
"happy birthday," you whisper, your voice wobbling despite your best efforts. "i know it's small, but i wanted you to come home to something that was just for you."
he exhales a quiet laugh against your hair, one hand settling at the back of your head while the other pulls you impossibly closer.
"you did all this?" he murmurs. you only nod and he kisses your forehead so gently it almost hurts.
but before you can start crying, yuji walks over with the cake balanced carefully in both hands, the candles lighting up his face.
"happy birthday to you—" he starts singing, voice slightly off-key. you all quickly join in while walking to the kitchen counter.
right at the very end, gojo just has to ruin the moment in the most gojo way possible by adding some ridiculous solo note that absolutely no one asked for, holding it far too long with a hand dramatically pressed to his chest like he’s auditioning for an opera.
there’s a beat of stunned silence,
"shut up!" nobara smacks the back of his head so hard he almost loses balance, making yuji burst into laughter and megumi bury his face in his hand. gojo yelps, offended, rubbing the back of his head while still somehow looking pleased with himself.
"okay!" you call, trying not to laugh yourself and holding up your camera. "everyone look here!"
five familiar faces turn toward you, and right at the last second, nanami smiles. it's not a big one, but the warmth behind it could probably melt your heart. you press the shutter just as yuji laughs, gojo throws up another peace sign, nobara leans in closer, megumi gives the tiniest, reluctant smile, and nanami stands in the middle of them all, surrounded by the family he’d never expected to have.
the flash captures it forever, freezing a moment you’ll frame in the hallway the very next morning, because some memories deserve more than a place in your camera. some deserve to be passed every single day, a reminder that even the strongest man you know deserves to be celebrated too.
...
you wake with a sharp inhale.
the room is dark and cold. there's no laughter, no voices. just the thin gray light of early morning slipping through the curtains and the hollow silence of the house around you. for one disorienting second, your heart still reaches for the dream
but the bed beside you is empty.
it has been empty for a year.
kento nanami died a year ago, and the birthday you just celebrated only existed behind your closed eyes. your throat tightens as you stare at the ceiling, the memory only giving you an ache in your heart. the dream is already fading, but the feeling of his smile lingers like a bruise.
"happy birthday, my love" you whisper into the cold room.
a/n: sorry guys i couldn't help myself with that ending...
"shh, guys i hear him," you say, and the whole living room goes still at once. gojo looks far too pleased with himself, yuji is practically vibrating with excitement, nobara is already glaring at the crooked banner that she's been trying to fix the whole time, and megumi—poor, poor, megumi—has the expression of a man who knew from the beginning that he would be the only responsible one in the room.
it isn't some huge, extravagant party. it's just the five of you, a cake, a few decorations, and the living room of the home you share with nanami, but that's exactly why it matters. he never asks for much, never makes a fuss, never expects anyone to celebrate him. so this time, you wanted something just for him.
buttt keeping it a secret from nanami has still been nearly impossible. he has always had that unnerving ability to read you, so the week leading up to his birthday feels like walking through a minefield in socks. every excuse you've made to cover up your weird behavior comes out clumsy and stitched together with nervous laughter.
but every time, nanami simply hums, presses a kiss to your forehead, and says nothing. somehow, that makes it worse. because if he knows, he isn't telling you. and you desperately want him to have one day where he doesn't have to anticipate everyone else's needs. one day where someone takes care of him.
the planning, thankfully, is simple. with only a handful of people and the whole thing happening in the living room, there isn't much to arrange beyond the things that matter. gojo is there because he cannot resist a dramatic reveal and, for once, he swore he would be useful.
yuji is there because he thinks birthdays are sacred, he nearly cried when you told him that you wanted him there. nobara is there because she refuses to let anything look ugly and megumi is there because someone has to keep the other three from turning the entire thing into a disaster, of course. between the four of them, you manage to pull together exactly what nanami would never ask for but absolutely deserves: a cake he likes, a few strings of warm fairy lights, a simple banner, and a small stack of photos that make the whole room feel like a memory.
fast forward to the living room on the afternoon of his birthday. soft golden fairy lights are draped along the windows and across the mantle, warm enough to make the whole space glow as evening settles outside. a few white lilies sit in a glass vase on the coffee table. the cake rests on the dining table, neat and understated, exactly the kind of thing he would pretend not to care about while secretly appreciating every detail. photographs are tucked along the shelves and mantle, depicting both funny and sentimental memories of nanami over the years.
your eyes keep drifting toward the front door where nanami will walk in after another long day. your stomach twists with nervous excitement, not because you're worried the decorations aren't pretty enough or the cake won't taste good, but because loving nanami has always felt like trying to repay a debt you'll never truly settle.
how do you thank someone who has made your entire life feel safer? someone who remembers exactly how you take your coffee, who warms your side of the bed before you climb in during winter, who quietly brushes your hair behind your ear while you're reading because he knows you hate when it falls in your face? birthdays suddenly seem impossibly small compared to everything he's given you.
the sound of his key sliding into the lock freezes the entire room. every conversation dies instantly. while everyone scrambles to find a hiding spot, megumi reaches for the light switch. you stand just behind the doorway, heart pounding so loudly you're convinced nanami will hear it before he even opens the door. then it swings inward. he steps inside, loosening his tie with one hand, briefcase still hanging from the other, exhaustion written into every line of his posture. for one impossibly quiet second, he simply blinks at the dark living room. then every light flicks on.
"surprise!"
the shout practically rattles the windows.
nanami eyes slightly widen, his hand instinctively moving toward his back before stopping.
silence hangs for a heartbeat before the smallest smile begins to bloom across his face. it starts at the corner of his lips before reaching his eyes, melting away every ounce of fatigue he'd carried through the front door. you cross the room before he can say anything, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face against the familiar warmth of his suit.
"happy birthday," you whisper, your voice wobbling despite your best efforts. "i know it's small, but i wanted you to come home to something that was just for you."
he exhales a quiet laugh against your hair, one hand settling at the back of your head while the other pulls you impossibly closer.
"you did all this?" he murmurs. you only nod and he kisses your forehead so gently it almost hurts.
but before you can start crying, yuji walks over with the cake balanced carefully in both hands, the candles lighting up his face.
"happy birthday to you—" he starts singing, voice slightly off-key. you all quickly join in while walking to the kitchen counter.
right at the very end, gojo just has to ruin the moment in the most gojo way possible by adding some ridiculous solo note that absolutely no one asked for, holding it far too long with a hand dramatically pressed to his chest like he’s auditioning for an opera.
there’s a beat of stunned silence,
"shut up!" nobara smacks the back of his head so hard he almost loses balance, making yuji burst into laughter and megumi bury his face in his hand. gojo yelps, offended, rubbing the back of his head while still somehow looking pleased with himself.
"okay!" you call, trying not to laugh yourself and holding up your camera. "everyone look here!"
five familiar faces turn toward you, and right at the last second, nanami smiles. it's not a big one, but the warmth behind it could probably melt your heart. you press the shutter just as yuji laughs, gojo throws up another peace sign, nobara leans in closer, megumi gives the tiniest, reluctant smile, and nanami stands in the middle of them all, surrounded by the family he’d never expected to have.
the flash captures it forever, freezing a moment you’ll frame in the hallway the very next morning, because some memories deserve more than a place in your camera. some deserve to be passed every single day, a reminder that even the strongest man you know deserves to be celebrated too.
...
you wake with a sharp inhale.
the room is dark and cold. there's no laughter, no voices. just the thin gray light of early morning slipping through the curtains and the hollow silence of the house around you. for one disorienting second, your heart still reaches for the dream
but the bed beside you is empty.
it has been empty for a year.
kento nanami died a year ago, and the birthday you just celebrated only existed behind your closed eyes. your throat tightens as you stare at the ceiling, the memory only giving you an ache in your heart. the dream is already fading, but the feeling of his smile lingers like a bruise.
"happy birthday, my love" you whisper into the cold room.
a/n: sorry guys i couldn't help myself with that ending...
hi just wanted to say you’re amazing and i love your work 🥹💕
THANK YOU, IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING (i put my heart and soul into it trust)
06 ⋆ late night tv with your boyfriend kento nanami! (ㅎ.ㅎ)
KENTO'S STRESSFUL day had followed him home, clinging to his shoulders even after he’d taken his shoes off and loosened his tie. The faint tension of meetings and deadlines still lingered in his mind. Your place, though, had always been good at undoing him.
It smelled like vanilla, butter, and something faintly toasted, the kind of scent that made his chest loosen without him realizing it had been tight at all.
You’d greeted him with an excited grin, already tugging him toward the kitchen before he could even fully register that he’d arrived and insisted that baking was the only acceptable way to end a long day.
Something simple—maybe cookies, maybe brownies—nothing that required any skills, because you liked how relaxed he became when perfection wasn’t demanded of him.
Music played softly from your phone on the counter while you worked side by side, you narrating every step as if he didn't already know the recipes. You kept stealing glances at the way his sleeves were rolled just enough to show his forearms and how his expression softened whenever you laughed at your own mistakes.
By the time the desserts were cooling, and the kitchen was cleaned, the two of you had migrated to the couch, plate on the coffee table, and a show playing that neither of you was fully paying attention to.
You curled into his side like it was muscle memory, legs tucked beneath you, and head resting against his chest as his arm settled around your shoulders. Your voice grew quieter between comments, your reactions to the show delayed by a few seconds too long, your blinks heavier than before.
He sighs every time you say it.
"Right after this episode," but your eyes are half-lidded, and you're blinking slowly like you’re fighting a losing battle.
Nanami doesn’t look at you because he already knows.
"Mhm," he hums, tone utterly unconvinced. He turns the volume down in preparation.
After ten minutes, your breathing evens out, soft and warm against him. Your fingers, which had been lazily gripping his shirt, slacken. Your head slips further down his chest.
Nanami glances down and sees that you're asleep. Of course you are.
He closes his book that he was barely reading, careful not to shift too much. For a moment, he just watches you. Your lashes rest above your cheeks, mouth slightly open. There’s something tender about how you trust him like this, like you expect him to take care of the rest.
"I warned you," he murmurs, even though you can’t properly comprehend him.
One arm slides under your knees, the other behind your back. You stir, brow knitting for half a second before instinctively curling into him, nose pressing into his collarbone.
"M’kay…"
He smiles a little.
The walk to your shared bedroom is quiet. He adjusts his grip when you shift, like he’s done this a hundred times before and plans to do it a hundred more. When he lays you down, you grab his wrist weakly.
"Ken…"
"Honey...I have to go home," he says gently, like saying it softer will make reality less harsh.
You weakly shake your head. "Stay, please."
Nanami exhales, and any thought of leaving evaporates instantly. He murmurs your name under his breath, more fond than admonishing, before carefully slipping off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand, movements slow and deliberate so he doesn’t wake you more than he already has.
"God, you’re so warm…"
He stills, breath hitching for just a second before he relaxes again, thumb brushing slow circles against your side.
"You say that every time," he murmurs quietly, more amused than anything.
Your hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying there like you’re claiming the heat for yourself.
"You should move in," you add, words slurred but sincere.
"…You mean that?" he asks softly, turning his head just enough to look down at you, searching your face for any sign of teasing, but there is none. You've already fallen asleep, but Nanami waits a few seconds longer than necessary, just in case.
"…Mm," he says finally, voice almost shy. "I’ll take that as a yes."
i think ya'll can tell i really like baker!reader 🥹
dad!nanami planning (and failing) to suprise his daughter
dad!nanami had planned this perfectly.
or at least, he had thought he did.
the dollhouse had been ordered quietly, carefully, with the kind of precision he usually reserved for work. it was supposed to arrive later, closer to her birthday. he had a whole plan for it—wrap it properly while she was at school, and after a birthday lunch at her favorite place she could come home to see it.
what he did not plan for was the delivery arriving early.
and what he definitely did not plan for was missing the notification entirely.
so when he picked his daughter up from school that afternoon, he was expecting nothing unusual. she climbed into the backseat in her usual whirlwind of energy, immediately launching into a detailed breakdown of her day—who said what, who ran faster, who had a "weird pizza opinion" she strongly disagreed with.
nanami listened like he always did, calm and attentive, occasionally nodding at things that made absolutely no logical sense but clearly mattered very much.
it was only when they turned onto their street that everything changed.
she went silent first, head cocking out at the window like a chicken and then her entire body snapped forward.
"DADDY."
nanami barely had time to glance up before she was tapping at the glass of her window, voice already climbing into a pitch of disbelief and excitement. "DADDY WHAT IS THAT??"
and there it was, a very large, very familiar box sitting on the porch.
his brain took a second too long to accept what his eyes were telling him.
"…no," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, but his daughter was already losing it.
she was bouncing in her seat, kicking her feet, grabbing at the door handle before the car had even fully stopped. "IS THAT FOR ME?? IS IT A HOUSE?? DADDY IT’S A HOUSE, IT’S A HOUSE—"
the second the car stopped, she was gone.
nanami got out more slowly, already accepting that the situation had escaped him entirely.
by the time he reached the porch, she was practically vibrating in place, staring up at the box like it had descended from the sky specifically for her. then she saw the picture on the side.
"IT’S A DOLLHOUSE— DADDY IT’S A DOLLHOUSE— IT HAS A MILLION ROOMS— IT HAS STAIRS— OH MY GOD—"
she was hopping in place, grabbing his hand, shaking it like she could physically transmit excitement into him. "DADDY DO YOU SEE IT?? DO YOU SEE IT??"
nanami crouched slightly, steadying her before she actually launched herself into orbit. "yes sweetheart, i see it."
"YOU GOT IT FOR ME??"
the energy shifted, all that chaos narrowing into one very intense question.
he paused, sighing. he had intended for this to be a surprise, but looking at her face right now made it impossible to care about timing anymore.
"…yes," he admitted.
a delighted, full-body scream of joy left her lungs before she threw herself at him so hard he had to catch her properly to keep them both upright. "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU—"
and nanami, very calmly, very quietly, accepted defeat.
by the time you got home later, the house was suspiciously quiet. you creeped down the corridor, peeking into your daughters room.
"…no daddy the car doesn't go there."
your daughter was sitting cross-legged on the floor, completely absorbed in the dollhouse like it was a sacred temple, while your husband—suit slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up, expression deeply resigned—was being strictly bossed around.
"you are ken," she informed him firmly.
nanami stared at the tiny plastic figure in his hand.
"…what."
"ken."
"…why?"
"because barbie needs a boyfriend, duhh."
a long pause.
nanami looked at you.
you looked at him.
he looked back down at the doll, accepting his fate.
"…i see."
you leaned against the doorway.
"y'know, he was my ken first," you chuckle, "get it? because his name is kento."
your daughter blinks, "huh? but daddy already has a name"
"oh?"
she looked at you like you were the one being confusing. "his name is daddy."
you blinked. "…right."
your daughter nodded, satisfied she had resolved the issue, and went right back to playing.
nanami and you exchange a look before laughing.
a/n: only my second post all month whoops...anyway nanami's birthday is this week and im so excitedddd i might make a cake
hallwaycrush!megumi who has no idea that you've memorized the sound of his footsteps.
hallwaycrush!megumi who walks into school looking half asleep and somehow still manages to be the prettiest boy you've ever seen.
hallwaycrush!megumi who makes you sit up straighter whenever he enters a room.
hallwaycrush!megumi who has absolutely no clue that your mood depends on whether or not you see him that day.
hallwaycrush!megumi who says "thanks" after you hand him a worksheet and you're giggling into your pillow that night.
hallwaycrush!megumi who accidentally brushes past you in a crowded hallway and has forgotten about it within seconds.
you, meanwhile, remember the exact date of the moment.
hallwaycrush!megumi who makes you check your appearance in every reflective surface before passing period.
hallwaycrush!megumi who has become the reason you're never late to third period.
hallwaycrush!megumi who leans against the wall waiting for the teacher to unlock the classroom door and you force yourself to act normal despite the fact that he's standing there looking like that.
hallwaycrush!megumi who makes your friends immediately turn toward you whenever he walks by.
hallwaycrush!megumi who says your name only once, and now his voice saying it lives in your brain rent-free.
hallwaycrush!megumi who asks to borrow a pencil.
you act a damn fool and nearly hand him your entire backpack.
hallwaycrush!megumi whose rare smiles have the same effect on you as being struck by cupid's bow.
hallwaycrush!megumi who looks over during class and catches you staring.
hallwaycrush!megumi who simply looks away.
you, however, spend the next hour considering what your future kids should be named.
hallwaycrush!megumi who asks, "you okay?" when you trip over literally nothing.
you've never been okay a day in your life.
hallwaycrush!megumi who remembers your name and casually uses it one day.
hallwaycrush!megumi who doesn't understand why you suddenly act so weird afterward.
hallwaycrush!megumi who walks around completely unaware that he's the subject of at least 70% of your class daydreams.
hallwaycrush!megumi who sits two rows away and somehow that's still too close and not close enough at the same time.
hallwaycrush!megumi who has no idea you've constructed seventeen different fake scenarios in your head where he falls in love with you.
hallwaycrush!megumi who exists.
which, unfortunately, is already more than enough.
a/n: guys megumi is kinda growing on me! keyword kinda because he's not beefy like my man nanami 🥹
09 ⋆ your husband nanami comes home exhausted ૮꒰˶ - ˕ -꒱ა
꒰ the way i can write this but not an essay needs to be studied 😭꒱
THE TELEVISION IS ON LOW, more background hum than actual entertainment, flickering light painting soft shadows across the living room walls. A single lamp casts warm light across the living room while you sit curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket tucked over your legs.
You’ve been pretending to watch something for the past three hours, phone resting forgotten in your hand, attention drifting every time you think you hear footsteps in the hallway. It’s much later than your husband said he'd be, but you’ve learned not to let fear bloom too quickly.
Still, when the lock finally clicks, your body reacts before your mind does, shoulders straightening, breath catching just slightly as the door opens and Nanami steps inside.
He doesn’t announce himself the way he usually does but simply stands there for a moment after closing the door, and that’s when you see it. His suit jacket is still on, but the fabric at one shoulder is torn, threads pulled loose like something grabbed him hard enough to split it.
There’s blood darkening the sleeve, soaked into the cuff of his blue shirt beneath, streaked along his knuckles. His spotted tie is crooked and loosened, not carefully adjusted but tugged at absentmindedly. His hair has fallen slightly out of place, strands resting against his forehead. He looks tired, yes, but more than that, he looks hollowed out, like whatever was keeping him upright has thinned to almost nothing.
“Ken?” you call out in concern, already pushing the blanket off your legs.
He lifts his eyes to you, and something shifts in them. Not panic and not even pain. It's like he’s seen water after walking miles in the Sahara.
He walks toward you without a word, steps slow and deliberate, as if movement itself took a great amount of effort. When he reaches the couch, he doesn’t sit beside you the way he normally would. He doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes or even his glasses. He simply lowers himself to his knees in front of you and leans forward, head landing in your lap. His cheek presses into your thigh, breath warm through the fabric of your clothes. Both arms fold loosely around your legs, like he’s anchoring himself there without thinking.
“[Name]...” he sighs.
One second you feel the tension coiled in his shoulders, his spine still holding itself upright out of sheer discipline, and the next it dissolves completely. His body slackens, head growing heavier against your thighs as his breathing evens out into something deep and unconscious. You feel the exact moment he lets go. It’s immediate, like the only thing tethering him to consciousness was the need to reach you first.
Your fingers move into his hair, stroking through strands that are stiff in places where blood has dried. He doesn’t stir. Not when you whisper his name again, and not when you gently adjust so you can support him better, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other rests on his shoulder.
His face, turned slightly toward you, is relaxed in a way that almost hurts to look at. The constant furrow between his brows is gone. His jaw isn’t tight. His lashes rest quietly against his skin, and for a moment he doesn’t look like the man who walked through that door covered in someone else’s violence.
There’s blood soaking slowly into your pajama pants, warmth seeping through fabric, but you don’t move him. Can't. The idea of waking Nanami feels cruel. He must have been holding himself together with nothing but willpower just so he could make it here. Just so he could collapse somewhere safe.
You smooth his hair back from his forehead carefully and lean down, pressing a soft kiss against his temple.
⤳ SMAU | things go wrong while texting you on his skateboard
you answered so fast the screen barely had time to load.
"yuji?!"
instead of your boyfriend’s face, megumi appeared on the screen looking profoundly exhausted, fluorescent hospital lights bleaching the life out of him.
you sat up instantly. "why are you calling me. where’s my boyfriend?"
megumi sighed. "he's...alive."
"FUSHIGURO."
"oh calm down will you? yuji's fine."
"that does not sound convincing when you say it like that."
there was shuffling, then megumi muttered, "you deal with her yourself," before flipping the camera around.
yuji appeared in a hospital bed, the white bandage wrapped around his forehead was slightly crooked. he had a hospital blanket pulled over his lap, a cup of melting ice cream balanced against his stomach, and the biggest stupidest smile on his face.
the second he saw you, he lifted one hand―that was also wrapped up―and waved.
"hiiiii"
you stared at him in complete silence.
"baby," he continued carefully, "uhm, before you get mad, i think it’s important to know i didn't lose the skateboard you bought me."
"i should’ve let natural selection take him." megumi grumbled behind the camera.
yuji gasped dramatically. "maybe you really don't love me."
"huh...?"
you finally found your voice. "you disappeared for TWO HOURS."
"my phone flew into a bush, fushiguro had to find for me it."
"YUJI."
"in my defense," he said, pointing his spoon at the camera, "the hill was like…way steeper than expected."
megumi snorted offscreen. "he tried to text you while going downhill."
"well i heard multitasking is attractive," yuji argued.
"well my boyfriend having a concussion is not very attractive."
he frowned thoughtfully at that. "okay yeah fair point."
honestly you were about to tell him off on how he should be more careful on how he handles his safety, but when your idiot boyfriend grinned at you from his hospital bed with ice cream on his spoon and a golden-retriver-like smile on his face, your heart melted instantly.
"…you scared me," you muttered quietly.
his expression softened right away.
"sorry," he said. "didn’t mean to."
then after like three seconds of sincerity, he lifts up his arm.
"hey wanna see the scrape on my elbow? i think it's infected."
"ew no!"
a/n: my first smau guys 🥹 i had to keep restarting bc the site kept bugging but i think i got the hang of it!
the many, many dumb questions yuji itadori asks you because his brain never sleeps
question one aka classic:
"would you still love me if i was a worm?" he asks, sitting criss-cross on your bed while you lay on your stomach.
you don’t even look up from your flower coloring book. "depends."
"ON WHAT???"
"on what kind of worm."
yuji stares at you in horror. "there's different kinds of worms??"
you'd think he'd know that because of...obvious reasons.
"duh. if you’re one of those gross cave worms then no."
he sulks, "oh..."
"earthworm yuji gets a little leaf habitat though."
"yay!!"
question two:
you guys were standing on a bridge over a pond, looking down at the koi fish swimming around when yuji asks: "if i got turned into a frog would you kiss me to break the curse?"
you chuckle, leaning on the railing. "of course not."
"what!? why???"
"cuz what if you enjoyed being a frog? i’m respecting your lifestyle."
yuji goes quiet for a second, considering your answer.
"oh...that’s actually really sweet."
question three:
"okay but genuinely," he says one afternoon, sitting on your couch upside down, "if i was a ghost would you let me haunt you?"
"you already do."
"wow," he frowns.
"you appear in my room uninvited and eat all my snacks."
"that's not haunting. that’s love!"
"no, love is buying me more of the pocky sticks that you stole" you throw a couch pillow at him.
"ow! okay, i'm sorry."
safe to say that you had a full supply of pocky sticks by the end of the day.
question four:
"hey, would you love me if i was bald?" he asks, staring at his faint reflection in the vending machine.
you stare at him, sighing deeply.
"and why are you bald in this scenario...?"
"i dunno," he shrugs, "tragic shampoo accident?”
"then yes."
his eyes widen. "really?"
"yuji, i watched you try to pull a push door for two minutes straight yesterday and i still love you."
he gets weirdly emotional about that for the rest of the day.
heyy guys im back after being gone since like- february 😬. i've been really busy with school and sports and then exams but schools finally out so i can focus on my passion which is and always has been writing x
Not that it really matters to most people but it absolutely disgusts me when I see people sexualizing and disrespecting Christianity. Its not even just with modern pop culture but with fanfic culture too. Im specifically mean when people are making smut fics of priest![insert character]. I've seen it across multiple fandoms and it makes me sick to my stomach. No one fucking talks about it, speaks out. But if someone where do something like this with say Islam or literally anything else, people would be enraged, but not with Christianity. It makes me so so mad to see my own religion disrespected and to have that disrespect supported. I feel as though these authors know literally nothing about Christianity because becoming a priest literally means that you completely give yourself to God and choose to abstain from sexual acts for the rest of your life. They do it out of love for God and in no way would they EVER just have sex with someone just because their attractive.
If you haven't guessed, I am a Christian, a catholic specifically. Call it bais, but even if I wasnt a Christian id still have the same opinions because of the morals I have.
If you dont know about it, dont write about it. Dont sexualize ANY religion just because your horny and "like it". No matter what, its disgusting.
heyyy!! First of all I love your writingggg 💓 it's just soo cutee and i just love it 😭💖. Sooo can you write like Nanami with a s/o who's like very clingy but tried to stay in control because people have rejected her before because of the clingy-ness and he just noticed her controlling herself trying not to hug or ask for cuddles whenever together now he's tryna think why she does that and all ?? Thank youu💖 byeee! ~
꒰thank youu im so glad you love my work! this is such a cute req!!꒱
10 ⋆ your boyfriend nanami wants you closer!! (｡>\\<)
YOU DON'T MEAN TO DO IT
It isn’t some calculated performance, and it isn’t you pretending to be someone else. It’s quieter than that. It’s habit. It’s muscle memory created by different people who all loved you just enough to stay for a while and just little enough to tell you, gently—or not so gently—that you were too much. Too clingy, to be specific.
The words never left bruises you could see, but they sank in all the same, settled somewhere behind your ribs, and now they whisper every time you reach for someone.
So when you start seeing Nanami, when you realize that you really, really like him, you decide you will not ruin this by being excessive.
You sit beside him on the couch, but leave a careful inch of space between your thighs and his. When he places a hand at the small of your back, you lean in just slightly instead of fully melting into it the way your body wants to. When you want to wrap your arms around him from behind while he’s reading at the table, you clasp your hands together and busy yourself in the kitchen instead. When the urge to ask, “Can we cuddle?” rises up warm and hopeful in your throat, you swallow it down and ask if he’s tired.
You ration your affection like it’s limited, like you’ve already used up too much in past relationships, and this time you have to be careful with the supply.
Nanami notices. He's observant by nature, cataloguing small shifts and inconsistencies without even trying, but mostly because he pays attention to you more than anything.
At first, he assumes you’re simply being considerate. Then he starts seeing the pattern. Your fingers twitch toward him when you’re laughing and then curl back into your own palm like you’ve caught yourself reaching too far. You hesitate before resting your head on his shoulder, and even then it’s ready to lift away at the first sign of inconvenience. Sometimes, you even look at him like you’re bracing for correction.
It unsettles him, not because he feels crowded, but because he doesn’t.
One evening, you’re both on the couch, the room quiet except for the soft turn of pages as he reads. You’re pretending to scroll on your phone, but your mind is on something else.
Gosh, you want to lean against him so badly it makes your chest ache, but you’ve already hugged him when he got home and already rested your hand on his arm once. That’s enough.
Don’t overdo it, you remind yourself.
Minutes pass like that, your body subtly angled toward him while you hold yourself in place. Finally, without looking up from his book, Nanami says:
“You can come closer.”
“What?”
He lowers the book just enough to glance at you over the rim of his glasses. “You’ve been wanting to lean on me for the past several minutes.”
Your face heats instantly. “What? No I haven’t.”
“You have.”
There’s no irritation in his voice but certainty. You look down at your hands, embarrassed by how obvious you must be.
“I just- I didn’t want to bother you...”
He closes his book and sets it aside with calmness before giving you his full attention, and somehow that feels more exposing than anything else.
“When,” he asks quietly, “have you ever bothered me?”
You hesitate, and that hesitation is louder than an answer. His gaze sharpens, not at you, but at the space around you, as if examining something invisible.
“Who made you feel like affection was an inconvenience?”
You try to shrug it off, but your voice comes out smaller than you intend. “I’ve just been told I can be a little clingy.”
“By who?”
“My ex.”
“Just one?”
“…All. That's why they broke up with me.”
There's a heavy silence, and you can see him processing what you just said. He exhales slowly through his nose, jaw setting for half a second before smoothing out again.
“And because of that,” he says carefully, “you are withholding affection from me.”
You nod. “I don’t want to mess this up. I really like you.”
Something in his expression softens, and he shifts closer without hesitation, erasing the careful distance you’d been maintaining. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.
“You are allowed to want things,” he says, “you are allowed to touch me. To lean on me. To ask for my attention. If I ever need space, I will tell you. You do not need to reject yourself in advance on my behalf.”
The words hit somewhere tender. You hadn’t even realized that’s what you’d been doing, stepping back before anyone else could ask you to.
“I just didn’t want you to get tired of me.” You mumble, throat tightening.
He rests his forehead against yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.
“I am not them,” he says quietly, and there’s nothing defensive in it, just fact. “And if you ever feel the need to hug me, I would strongly prefer that you do.”
A fragile, uncertain laugh slips out of you, and this time when you lean into him, you don’t stop halfway. You let yourself press fully against his chest, arms sliding around him without apology, cheek settling into the solid warmth of him like you’ve wanted to all evening. He doesn’t shift away, arms wrapping around you immediately and pulling you closer until there’s no space left to question.
He holds you like it’s natural. Like it’s wanted. For the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you have to measure the amount of affection you’re allowed to give.
09 ⋆ your husband nanami comes home exhausted ૮꒰˶ - ˕ -꒱ა
꒰ the way i can write this but not an essay needs to be studied 😭꒱
THE TELEVISION IS ON LOW, more background hum than actual entertainment, flickering light painting soft shadows across the living room walls. A single lamp casts warm light across the living room while you sit curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket tucked over your legs.
You’ve been pretending to watch something for the past three hours, phone resting forgotten in your hand, attention drifting every time you think you hear footsteps in the hallway. It’s much later than your husband said he'd be, but you’ve learned not to let fear bloom too quickly.
Still, when the lock finally clicks, your body reacts before your mind does, shoulders straightening, breath catching just slightly as the door opens and Nanami steps inside.
He doesn’t announce himself the way he usually does but simply stands there for a moment after closing the door, and that’s when you see it. His suit jacket is still on, but the fabric at one shoulder is torn, threads pulled loose like something grabbed him hard enough to split it.
There’s blood darkening the sleeve, soaked into the cuff of his blue shirt beneath, streaked along his knuckles. His spotted tie is crooked and loosened, not carefully adjusted but tugged at absentmindedly. His hair has fallen slightly out of place, strands resting against his forehead. He looks tired, yes, but more than that, he looks hollowed out, like whatever was keeping him upright has thinned to almost nothing.
“Ken?” you call out in concern, already pushing the blanket off your legs.
He lifts his eyes to you, and something shifts in them. Not panic and not even pain. It's like he’s seen water after walking miles in the Sahara.
He walks toward you without a word, steps slow and deliberate, as if movement itself took a great amount of effort. When he reaches the couch, he doesn’t sit beside you the way he normally would. He doesn’t remove his jacket or his shoes or even his glasses. He simply lowers himself to his knees in front of you and leans forward, head landing in your lap. His cheek presses into your thigh, breath warm through the fabric of your clothes. Both arms fold loosely around your legs, like he’s anchoring himself there without thinking.
“[Name]...” he sighs.
One second you feel the tension coiled in his shoulders, his spine still holding itself upright out of sheer discipline, and the next it dissolves completely. His body slackens, head growing heavier against your thighs as his breathing evens out into something deep and unconscious. You feel the exact moment he lets go. It’s immediate, like the only thing tethering him to consciousness was the need to reach you first.
Your fingers move into his hair, stroking through strands that are stiff in places where blood has dried. He doesn’t stir. Not when you whisper his name again, and not when you gently adjust so you can support him better, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other rests on his shoulder.
His face, turned slightly toward you, is relaxed in a way that almost hurts to look at. The constant furrow between his brows is gone. His jaw isn’t tight. His lashes rest quietly against his skin, and for a moment he doesn’t look like the man who walked through that door covered in someone else’s violence.
There’s blood soaking slowly into your pajama pants, warmth seeping through fabric, but you don’t move him. Can't. The idea of waking Nanami feels cruel. He must have been holding himself together with nothing but willpower just so he could make it here. Just so he could collapse somewhere safe.
You smooth his hair back from his forehead carefully and lean down, pressing a soft kiss against his temple.
08 ⋆ teen!nanami asking to be your valentine!! (>/////<) ♡
implied black reader <3
NANAMI KENTO HAS NEVER HATED pink paper more in his life.
There are five failed versions of the card in the trash beside his desk, folded with frustrating neatness because even when spiraling internally, he refuses to be messy about it.
His pen hovers over the sixth attempt, and for someone who can solve calculus problems without blinking, writing one simple question feels impossible.
Across from him, Gojo is fully horizontal across three chairs like this is premium entertainment. Haibara is turned around in his seat, chin in his palm, smiling like Nanami is about to do something heroic instead of humiliating.
“You’re overthinking it,” Gojo says, peering at the card. “Just write, ‘Be my Valentine?’ Boomshakalala.”
Nanami doesn’t look up. “Rich from the guy who gave his valentine a bouquet of 100-dollar bills.”
Haibara laughs. “You don’t have to sound like a textbook either.”
The comment makes him pause.
He doesn’t talk to you like a textbook. He talks to you like… like someone he wants to impress but also doesn’t want to scare off. Like someone who noticed the way you tuck your curls behind your ear when you’re concentrating. Like someone who definitely did not stare too long the first time sunlight hit your skin near the classroom windows and made everything feel warmer than it should have.
You are the first girl who has ever made him forget what he was about to say mid-sentence. The first girl whose laugh lingers in his head hours later. The first girl who makes him nervous in a way that isn’t bad. Just overwhelming.
Nanami picks up a pen, and this time, he does not draft it like a formal invitation. He writes without stopping.
It feels too long, but maybe long is honest.
(He makes sure they can’t see what he’s writing.)
Later, when your voice sounds from down the hallway, his stomach drops so suddenly it almost makes him sit back down.
Haibara nudges him. “Go.”
His tie suddenly feels too tight. His hands are warmer than they should be. He adjusts his sleeves because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.
When he steps into the hallway and sees you standing by the lockers, sunlight pouring around you, it hits him all over again how pretty you are. Not just pretty but striking. The gold light sinks into the warmth of your brown skin and makes you glow in a way that feels unfair. Your curls are down today, and he has to physically force himself to focus.
You see him and smile, which makes his pulse go crazy.
“Hi, Kento,” you say, like you’re genuinely happy to see him.
He swallows. “Hi.”
He becomes painfully aware of the bouquet in his hand. The roses suddenly feel obvious. The chocolates feel dramatic. He almost considers retreating, but then you tilt your head patiently. You’ve always been like that. You let others finish their thoughts even when it takes too long.
He takes a breath.
“I—I got these for you.”
He holds out the flowers first. You blink, surprised, before accepting them carefully. Your fingers brush his, and he almost short-circuits.
“They’re really pretty,” you say softly, bringing them closer to your chest.
He hands you the chocolates next, more awkward this time. “And these.”
Your smile grows, and there’s something in your eyes now. Something hopeful.
He takes the card out last, “I was wondering,” he says. His voice is steadier now, even though his heart is absolutely not, “if you’d want to be my Valentine.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Your gaze alternates between him and the items before you laugh, soft and relieved.
Before he can spiral, you shift the gifts into one arm and reach into your bag.
“I was literally about to ask you,” you admit, pulling out a small gift bag.
He blinks. “What?”
“I brought you something too,” you say, cheeks a little pink but smiling like you’re proud of yourself. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this all day.”
His brain is struggling to process the idea that you were nervous too. That you thought about him too. And maybe all those times you met his gaze weren’t just politeness.
“You were going to ask me?” he repeats, because he genuinely needs confirmation.
You nod.
“Yes, Kento. I like you.”
For the first time all day, he exhales properly.
“I’m glad,” he says quietly, and this time there’s no formality in it. Just truth. “Because I really like you too.”
And when you smile at him like that, he realizes he would have rewritten that card seventy-three times if it meant hearing you say yes.
Dear reader,
I have rewritten this several times, which is likely unnecessary, but I find that when something matters, I prefer to be precise.
You are important to me. That is the simplest way I can put it.
I do not know when it started exactly. Perhaps it was the first time you laughed at one of my sarcastic remarks as though it was genuinely funny. Or the first time you thanked me for my notes and smiled in a way that made me forget what I was about to say next. I only know that, at some point, my day began to feel incomplete if I had not spoken to you.
You are the first person who has ever made me feel this nervous in a way that is not unpleasant. I notice small things about you without meaning to. The way sunlight settles against your skin and seems warmer for it. The way your curls frame your face when you tilt your head to listen. The steadiness in your voice. The kindness in your eyes.
You are beautiful. Not only in the obvious ways, though those are undeniable, but in the quiet ones too. In your patience. In your laughter. In the way you treat people with a gentleness that feels intentional.
I admire you more than I have the vocabulary to properly express.
If you would allow it, I would like to spend Valentine’s Day with you. Not because of the holiday itself, but because it would mean I could be beside you intentionally rather than coincidentally.
If you say no, I will understand, and I will still be grateful to know you.
But if you say yes, I think I would be very fortunate.
07 ⋆ distracting your husband nanami while he cooks !! (๑>•̀๑)
YOU CAN TELL what kind of person Nanami is by the way he cooks.
The rice cooker is already quietly working in the corner, steam fogging the lid in soft bursts. On the counter, salmon fillets sit skin-side down on a tray, lightly salted exactly ten minutes ago.
You’re sitting on the counter beside the cutting board, watching him slice carrots into perfect diagonal pieces.
“You could just eyeball it,” you say.
He doesn’t look up. “No.”
“Personally, I measure with my heart.”
“Well, I measure with accuracy,” he replies, wiping the blade clean before moving on to the zucchini.
Butter melts slowly in the pan, and when he lays the salmon down, it hits the surface with a sharp, satisfying sizzle. You don’t even try to hide that you’re staring at him. In your defense, Nanami Kento has very sexy forearms, and the way he tied his apron accentuates the line of his waist. Anyone in your position would be drooling right now.
“Can I impregnate you?”
Nanami narrowed eyes with a slight, anxious crease between his brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“What? I didn't say anything.”
The vegetables go into a second pan with a quiet hiss—butter, a spoonful of miso paste, and a splash of soy sauce. He stirs once, coating everything evenly.
“If you are attempting to fluster me, it will not work.”
Even so, you reach out and lightly tug at the edge of his apron. “How about you leave the food and get straight to dessert, hm?”
Your husband exhales slowly, setting the knife down with deliberate care before turning to face you. He steps closer, hands bracing on either side of your thighs on the counter.
“You are being quite distracting, my love,” he says quietly, face dangerously close to yours.
You tilt your head, staring at his lips. “Hm, I think you like it.”
A moment later, he lifts a spoon toward you without looking. “Taste.”
Instead of tasting politely, you hold his gaze while you slowly run your tongue along the edges of the spoon, dragging it clean before pulling it from your mouth with a soft, amused hum.
Then he takes the spoon back, turning toward the sink under the guise of rinsing it.
“That was...unnecessary,” he says, but his cheeks are a tinge of pink.
You swing your legs lightly. “Oh, but that's just the preview.”
He flips the salmon with one smooth motion. The skin is golden and crisp.
You lean closer to look. “Wow. That’s sexy.”
“Darling, it's fish.”
“You’re sexy.”
“...Next time you're waiting on the couch.”
You just laugh.
At the dining table, the food is plated like he's presenting to Gordon Ramsey. The rice is fluffed just right, salmon placed neatly on top, with the vegetables arranged.
“Oh Kento, the veggies are a little burnt,” You comment innocently. “Was someone distracting you?”
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