☆ applepi ☆

┌────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────┐ ✧ 20✧ He/Him✧ ENG ✧ ✧. ┊ male reader✧˖*°࿐ 🍷🍒🧯💌

[applepiiex]

❦𒌍 CHERRY POP ! ! !⁗ Welcome to Applepiiex ༄

‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི 𝜗𝜚🍒ᝰ.ᐟ꒱༘‧

INTRODUCTION ⋱

Apple, He, 20. Bisexual, Bilingual, Bipolar.

Nanami’s husband & Langdon’s baby doll. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT.

18+ MALE CENTRIC BLOG

Welcome! This will be a male reader blog only. Requests are open! To make a request, please read the rules post linked here!

Fandoms: Jujutsu Kaisen, The Pitt (2025), Marvel/MCU, DC Comics, 9-1-1, Harry Potter, Hannibal, Suits, My Hero Academia, Haikyuu, Blue Lock

For more of my work that is character x character, check out my AO3.

Masterlist indicates nsfw જ⁀➴⇣⇣⇣

The Pitt

FRANK LANGDON

No More Secrets - Dr. Langdon and Dr. L/N have been hiding something from the rest of The Pitt staff. Work-Life balance, they said. However, it all comes crashing down when the announcement is made of what's happening at Pitt Fest, and you're caught in the crossfire.

Surprise Gift - Sometimes - scratch that, most times - you wish Frank would update you on what was happening in his life. Overtime, his addiction, a bad call... a dog.

Not My Doctor - When Frank Langdon watches someone recover, he sees lab results, fluid levels, healing rates. But when it’s his husband, bruised and bandaged from top surgery, he forgets how to see anything but risk. You just want comfort. A hand to hold. Someone to tell you you’re still strong, still his. You don’t need your chest examined. You just need to feel seen. And loved. And whole.

Tell Me The Truth - Frank Langdon lied. He said his back was fine. That the pills were under control. Now you’re left picking up the pieces of your marriage and figuring out how to love someone who broke your trust.

Tradition Is Nice - Your study room is booked. Your caffeine levels are critically low. And Frank Langdon, smug, stupidly hot pre-med golden boy, just waltzed in like he owns the place. You’re a nursing major with no time for egos. He’s a future MD with a smirk you want to wipe clean... or maybe kiss. It’s not love. It’s just academic tension. Really. Probably.

Break A Leg - There is a reason they say to never treat family, and Frank is the picture perfect example of it. You barely show up to PTMC, maybe once in a blue moon to pick Frank up after a long shift. You normally only complained about sore feet, but this was a new type of feet related pain, if the blood and twisted ankle were anything of it.

First Sight - Frank has had to make a lot of changes since being sent to rehab. A lot of work, lots of new adjustments, new discoveries. Divorce isn't easy, but a gay awakening on his first day back might be harder.

Rude Awakening - Okay, there is a reason Dr. Langdon is known as ER Ken. He is stupidly good looking, witty, and annoyingly amazing at what he does. You know you hit the jackpot if the rock on your finger was anything to go by. However, that didn't mean others didn't try to play with your doll. Thankfully, Whitaker and Javadi are there to keep the sharks off him.

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Jujutsu Kaisen

KENTO NANAMI

After The Glitter Fades - Y/N comes home from a long shoot still wearing the lingerie from set, makeup flawless, hair styled, and tired in a way that runs deep. Nanami barely looks up. It’s not coldness—it’s patience. Because the version the world sees isn’t the one he loves most.

Office Hours - Nanami Kento does not believe in distractions. Not in lecture halls, not in recitations, and certainly not in the quiet, infuriatingly persistent presence of a grad student who isn’t even assigned to his section. But then you start showing up to his TA hours with smart questions, sharper eyes, somehow the walls around his heart start shifting. Slowly. Quietly. Irreversibly.

Zoom Class - Professor Nanami Kento’s online lectures are as stoic and precise as ever—until a tiny, babbling surprise makes a very unexpected guest appearance. Between impromptu baby cameos and quiet moments with his ever-patient husband, Nanami learns that even the most serious professor can’t resist the chaos of family life… especially when love is just a few feet away.

Safe and Sound - Dysphoria hits hard and quiet, a night that feels too long in your own skin. You don’t want to talk. Don’t want to be seen. But Nanami doesn’t ask you to explain. He just wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea, and loves you regardless.

Taste Like Home - There are just some days when your body upsets you. You don’t feel right, the skin is too tight, the shirt is too tight, the world is too tight. Those days are hard, and Nanami sees its toll on you. Good thing he makes it his mission to always remind you that he loves every. single. part of you.

Office Siren - It was simple, really. The minute you stepped into the building, walked into his office, you knew how this would end. You both did. This was your dance. Secretary and CEO. I mean, could I make it any more obvious?

First Words - The baby is now a constant in that chat box. However, Nanami is as stoic as ever in front of his students. He wrote it off as a one time occurrence, not to happen again. Until a milestone happens once more during class.

Fatherhood - Nanami Kento never pictured himself to be a father. Kids were a distraction in his mind, too much work. However, building a family with you, learning how to speak fluent baby talk, and mastering diaper changes like a pro, has made him reconsider his initial thoughts.

The Godfather(s) - Adjusting to fatherhood is difficult. The sleepless nights, the constant crying, and the overbearing messages from family just wanting to stop by and see!'. So, placing their baby boy in an eight week quarantine, just you and Kento, its finally broken by his two godfathers.

Lights, Camera - Kento Nanami is Hollywood royalty. An Oscar-winning actor known for his stoic presence, razor-sharp talent, and a reputation for never mixing business with pleasure. That is, until his newest film pairs him with you: a rising star, charming and quick-witted, with your first real shot at breaking into the spotlight. The camera starts rolling. The chemistry is undeniable. And suddenly, what was supposed to be just a job becomes something far more intimate. Some stories are written in scripts. Others, in the space between “cut” and “action.”

Your Pace - Nanami Kento is a patient man, especially with you. He always lets you set the pace, always lets your move on your own tune, and is always there to follow suit. However, when you keep toeing the line of sex, he’s more than happy to hold your hand and lead you down this new path.

Ruin Me- Nanami Kento is a textbook example of a workaholic. Slaving away with curse, at home, and even in the bedroom, the toll on his body is clear as day. The eye bags, the tense shoulders, the frown lines that seem to get deeper. So for today, you choose to let him be the one who’s held.

Crawling Back To You - You were pacing the walls like a hyper dog. You couldn’t sit still, every explosion making your skin crawl. It had been hours. The bed was so cold, the kitchen too clean, and the house too orderly compared to the sheer chaos happening in Shibuya. But that all disappears when you hear the door click open.

And Only Us - Nanami’s family keeps asking when you’ll “start a family” — but you’ve never wanted kids. Not by blood, not by adoption, not by accident. You tell him the truth you’ve always carried, bracing for it to be the thing that sends him away. It doesn’t. It never could.

The Cut That Always Bleeds - It’s hard being sick. It’s not as easy as the TikTok trends make it seem. It’s not as easy as the podcasts make it seem. It’s hard. It’s ugly. It’s difficult. And Nanami is there to listen to it all.

Yes To The Dress - Since you were a child, getting married in a wedding dress was a staple in your dream wedding Pinterest board. Since coming out, that dream never did change, and your lucky your husband-to-be doesn't care. But a few drinks in Gojo causes him mouth-to-brain filter to falter.

All Of You - You catch your reflection by accident, and suddenly everything spirals. The dysphoria hits hard, loud and cruel—like it always does. You're not flat enough, not sharp enough, not man enough. So you hide under your hoodie. Curl up on the bed. Try to disappear. But Nanami sees you anyway. He always does. With quiet hands and steady words, he reminds you that your body does not make you a man—you do. And he’ll hold you through the worst of it, no matter how long it takes.

Private Study - Nanami teaches like he fucks: precise, composed, and barely holding back. At least, that's what most assume. But when office hours hit and the door locks behind you, that perfect professor falls apart fast. You're not supposed to touch him. You're definitely not supposed to bend him over his own desk and fuck him so hard he cries into a midterm. And yet... every Wednesday night, he’s waiting. Hands folded. Tie loosened.

As Easy as Breathing - It's sometimes hard for people to understand you. You don't mean to be difficult, but surprises, weird metaphors, and overall lack of clarity is just frustrating. It's like swimming in murky water. Thankfully, the student across the table becomes a lighthouse, in a way, if we're doing metaphors.

Finger Paintings - Nanami genuinely believes the universe cursed him with karmic punishment when his tiny son turns out to have the exact same energy as Satoru Gojo. Between glitter attacks, school pranks, paint disasters, and Gojo actively encouraging the behavior, Nanami is permanently exhausted. But while Tashi fears absolutely nothing else in the world, one disappointed look from his other dad—you—is enough to stop the chaos instantly. Underneath all the troublemaking though, Tashi is just a wildly affectionate little boy who loves his family more than anything.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

House A Home - Toji Fushiguro’s apartment has never known softness, until you. In a home that reeks of old regrets and fresh bruises, you scrub the floors, patch the holes, and feed his boy like he’s yours. Toji should kick you out before you see too much. Before you make it too easy to believe he deserves warmth. But tonight, for once, he lets himself stay where it’s clean and quiet...and calls it home.

Campus Crush - College is hard enough without your terrifyingly hot secret boyfriend showing up on campus with a baby strapped to his chest like the world's scariest diaper ad. Especially when that boyfriend is Toji Fushiguro, ex-hitman vibes, muscle daddy body, and a very clear “do not approach” aura. You’re trying to stay under the radar. He’s walking around in broad daylight like a walking scandal. And now half your bio lab thinks he’s your brother. You're never going to live this down.

In My Heart - Toji never thought that someone would stay, much less put up with his kid. Not that Megumi was a bad kid, but reserved. After so many people, Megumi didn't let any of his father's flings ever have a say in how he feels. However, here you've proven to be the exception.

Showing Up - It's been weird having you around. Not bad weird, but weird in unfamiliar. So when Toji sees you holding Megumi, sick or not, it strikes something weird in his core. Again, not bad weird. And seeing how easy love can be shown is another level of weird.

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MULTIPAIRS

Through The Window / Nanami&Toji - It started with messages. You thought they were harmless at first, just the bitter cling of a past relationship that hadn’t ended the way either of you pretended it did. A few texts. A photo or two. You could handle it. But then the messages got darker. From gross to graphic. You didn’t want to tell Nanami and Toji. Didn’t want to ruin the calm you’d built between them. But you forgot who you were dating. Because Nanami reads death threats like case files. And Toji? Toji doesn’t believe in second warnings. You’re not alone anymore. You never have to be again.

Cuddle Time / Sukuna&Toji - You somehow ended up living every man’s dream, being sandwiched between two muscles on a couch while they argue over who’s more comfortable to cuddle. With little Megumi climbing all over the three of you, warm cuddles, sleepy kisses, giant hands holding you close, and the terrifying realization that the two scariest men alive are absolute suckers for their family.

Play Catch Up / Hakari&Kirara - The two of them were near upright loud about it. Maybe there was no need to explicitly define it for them. Maybe your heart and mind just needed to catch up

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Attack On Titan

LEVI ACKERMAN

Dandelions & July - Levi and Y/N he'd out for another mission. A dangerous one, but that isn't anything new. However, you're reckless with your life and Levi gives you an earful, accidentally revealing his plans once the Titan War is over.

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Boku no Hero Academia

AIZAWA SHOUTA

The Cat's Meow - You’ve been careful to keep your identity hidden from the world… until one sleepless night when missing your sleepy, scowling husband just gets the better of you.

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Superheroes (All)

PETER MAXIMOFF / X-MEN

Promise You'll Stay - Peter is known to be reckless on missions, and Y/N can't help but worry for his speedster. Several empty promises and false hope are exchanged between them, and the anxiety it causes Y/N is sometimes too much. Especially with his boyfriend coming back from space? Fuck.

SIERRA SIX / THE GRAY MAN

Runaway - It’s been nearly a year of radio silence, and Six finally returns home.

[applepiiex]

Can I request Toji with male reader just taking care and cuddling with Megumi? Please?

SHOWING UP ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

It's been weird having you around. Not bad weird, but weird in unfamiliar. So when Toji sees you holding Megumi, sick or not, it strikes something weird in his core. Again, not bad weird. And seeing how easy love can be shown is another level of weird.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Megumi is sick. Not horribly sick.

The tiny body curled miserably beneath blankets on the couch. The children’s medicine lined up on the coffee table. The humidifier humming quietly near the TV while cartoons played at low volume in the background, and you sat right in the middle of it all with Megumi bundled against your chest. Tiny feverish face tucked beneath your chin. Half asleep.

“Drink a little more for me,” you murmur softly, holding the juice box carefully while Megumi takes two reluctant sips before turning his head away dramatically.

“No more. M’full.”

“You’ve barely drunk the apple juice.”

Megumi gives you the same unimpressed look his father does whenever you annoy him. Which is often. Unfortunately for him, you’re immune to the Fushiguro glare now.

“You’re still drinking more.” Tiny betrayed sigh.

From the kitchen, Toji Fushiguro watches the entire interaction silently while pretending to make coffee. Pretending being the key word, because he’s mostly just staring at the two of you. Again. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Watching.

Observing all the tiny things you do with Megumi that nobody ever taught you. The way you always test soup temperature against your wrist first. How you rub slow circles between Megumi’s shoulder blades whenever he coughs. How your voice automatically drops softer around him when he’s tired or sick or overwhelmed.

Toji leans one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, coffee mug warm in his hand. “You know he’s playin’ you, right?”

You glance up immediately. Megumi peeks guiltily over the blanket. Caught.

“He has a fever,” you defend.

“He’s had you wrapped around his finger since day one.”

“That’s not true.”

Megumi coughs weakly into your hoodie. You immediately look back down at him in concern. Toji snorts.

“Case in point.” You ignore him completely.

“Poor baby,” you murmur, brushing damp black hair gently off Megumi’s forehead. “You still feel warm.” Megumi nods miserably before burrowing deeper into your chest.

Toji’s chest tightens in that annoying way it keeps doing around the two of you lately, because Megumi doesn’t cuddle people. Never really has. Not even as a toddler. Toji remembers nights when his son would curl up alone at the far edge of the futon, small and quiet and self-contained like he already understood disappointment too young.

Now though? Now Megumi practically climbs into your skin whenever he feels bad. And you let him. Every single time.

“You take medicine yet?” Toji asks finally.

Megumi immediately shakes his head hard. “No.”

“You have to.”

“No.”

“You’re literally sweating through the blanket, brat.” Megumi grabs fistfuls of your hoodie immediately like you might personally protect him from modern medicine.

You sigh. “He already took one dose earlier.”

“Yeah, six hours ago.”

Megumi groans weakly. “Papa, don’t bully me.”

Toji looks offended. “I’m not bullying you.”

“You’re being mean.”

“You threw up on my shoes.” You choke on a laugh instantly.

Toji points accusingly. “See? This is why he acts like this.”

“You’re both dramatic.”

“Says the guy cuddling him like a Victorian child with the plague.”

“He’s sick.”

“He barely has a fever.” Megumi coughs pathetically again like he’s trying to prove a point.

Toji narrows his eyes immediately. “Manipulative.”

“Papa’s mean,” Megumi whispers to you.

“He is,” you agree solemnly.

“Unbelievable.” Despite the complaints, Toji crosses the room anyway. The couch dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. Immediately warmer. Bigger. 

Megumi lifts sleepy arms toward him automatically without even opening his eyes fully. Toji freezes for half a second. Then mutters, “Spoiled kid,” while carefully pulling Megumi into his lap anyway.

The little boy settles instantly against his chest with a tired sigh. Your expression softens immediately at the sight. And there it is again… That feeling. The one Toji still doesn’t know how to name properly. Something warm and aching and terrifying all at once.

You lean sideways until your head rests lightly against Toji’s shoulder. Megumi trapped sleepily between the two of you beneath a mountain of blankets.

Domestic. Soft. Dangerous.

Toji grunts quietly. “You’re clingier than the kid.”

“You’re warm.”

“Hn.” Not denial. Never denial when it comes to you.

Megumi’s tiny fingers curl sleepily into the fabric of Toji’s shirt while his other hand stays latched onto your sleeve. Holding both of you. Toji looks down at him for a long moment.

“…Think he likes us.”

You smile sleepily against his shoulder. “Little bit.”

“Hm.” Silence settles after that. Cartoons flicker quietly across the TV screen. Rain taps softly against the apartment windows. And somewhere beneath the blankets, your foot brushes lightly against Toji’s. Neither of you move away. Megumi yawns suddenly. Then blinks up at both of you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Love you.” The words come small. Sleepy. Automatic. Toji goes still instantly. You don’t. You answer immediately, warm and certain, “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Megumi smiles faintly before his eyes drift shut again. Still half asleep, he mumbles softly, “Love Papa too.”

Toji’s throat tightens so fast it almost hurts. The apartment goes very quiet. You glance up slowly. Toji’s staring down at Megumi like someone cracked his ribs open and reached inside. Because maybe nobody’s ever said it to him that easily before. Like it was obvious. Like love wasn’t something conditional or temporary or doomed to disappear eventually.

Megumi’s already asleep again by the time Toji finally exhales roughly through his nose. “…Kid’s got bad taste.”

You laugh quietly. Then shift closer until your face tucks lightly against his neck.

“You’re really good with him,” you murmur.

Toji scoffs softly. “You literally do all the hard parts.”

“You still show up.”

The words hit harder than they should. Toji looks away slightly. Because showing up never felt like enough before you came around. But now there’s warm blankets and medicine schedules and sleepy little voices saying love you into the quiet apartment air.

Now there’s you. Curled against his side like you belong there. And Megumi asleep safely between both of you. Home. Again. 

Toji wraps one arm around your waist beneath the blanket and pulls you both closer instinctively. Closer to him. Like he’s afraid one day he’ll wake up and this will all be gone. You just go willingly, soft and warm against him. And for the rest of the evening, the three of you stay tangled together on the couch while rain taps against the windows and cartoons play softly into the dark.

[applepiiex]

lowkey hear me out maybe hakari & kiara x male reader who’s not a sorcerer but he knows abt the world and he’s like gym bro baddie and they do NOOTTT play about him or something…

PLAY CATCH UP ! 𓆩♡𓆪

Kinji Hakari & Kirara Hoshi x Male!Reader

The two of them were near upright loud about it. Maybe there was no need to explicitly define it for them. Maybe your heart and mind just needed to catch up.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You don’t belong in their world. You’re not a sorcerer. You don’t throw cursed energy around or exorcise anything with a flick of your wrist. You just lift heavy, eat like it’s a sport, and somehow ended up knowing too much about curses for a normal civilian to be comfortable.

That alone is why they noticed you.

It starts with Kinji Hakari. He watches you like you’re something rare. Not in a subtle way, either. He’s leaning back in a chair when you walk into the underground club he runs, gold eyes tracking you like you’re already part of his territory. Like you’ve always been his, and everyone else just forgot to notice.

You’re nursing a drink, pretending to not see it. You watch a match, taunting someone on the sidelines as your bet lands. Hakari laughs. Behind him, you feel it before you see it. Someone else is watching you just as intensely. Kirara Hoshi.

She doesn’t say much at first. Just looks you up and down like she’s measuring something that belongs in a vault. Then she steps closer too. Not too close, finding her way to Hakari’s lap, eyes still on you. 

“Him,” she says quietly, like she didn’t believe it until now.

Hakari grins wider at that. After that, things shift.

It becomes clear one night when you walk out of the gym late. You’re tired. Shirt damp with sweat. Mind hazy in that good way, and there they are. Waiting. Hakari pushes off the wall like he’s been bored for hours, but the second you’re in front of him, that energy sharpens.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he says.

“I’m fine,” you answer automatically.

Kirara steps in closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” she says. “You’re not.”

It’s not an argument. It’s a verdict.

Hakari leans down a little, close enough that you can feel his voice more than hear it. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he says. “Especially not to us.”

That’s the thing. They’re not here to compete with you. They’re here like you’re already theirs to take care of. And for the first time, you realize it’s not just admiration. It’s devotion. Possessive, quiet, absolute devotion.

Kirara reaches out then, not grabbing, just brushing her fingers against your wrist like she’s confirming you’re still there.

“You’re coming with us,” she says simply. Hakari smiles. Like it was never a question.

You don’t really know when it becomes obvious what you’ve become. It just… does.

One day, you’re just a guy who lifts weights and knows a little too much about curses. And the next, you’re standing between two of the most dangerous people in Tokyo, feeling like the center of something you definitely didn’t sign up for, but also can’t quite bring yourself to step away from.

Kinji Hakari is leaning into your space like he belongs there. Like you belong there.

“You always this calm?” he asks, eyes half-lidded, voice lazy in that way that never actually means he’s relaxed.

You snort. “You always this annoying?”

That earns you a grin, sharp, pleased, a little too satisfied for a normal reaction. “Yeah,” he says. “Only around people I like.”

The words land heavier than they should. Before you can respond, there’s a shift beside you. Close. Precise. Kirara steps in like she’s been there the whole time, even though she wasn’t. Her eyes don’t leave you.

The changes are subtle. Hakari walking you home without asking. Kirara appearing beside you when you didn’t hear her approach, like she’s always been there just slightly out of sight.

The way they don’t compete for your attention. They share it. Effortlessly. Like there was never going to be a fight over you because the answer was already both.

One night, you finally say it out loud. “You two are doing that thing again.”

Hakari glances at you. “What thing?”

“That thing where you act like I’m—” you hesitate, searching for the word, “—already yours.”

There’s a pause. Kirara answers first.

“You are.” Simple. Unapologetic. No hesitation at all.

Hakari watches your face like he’s waiting for you to run.

When you don’t, his grin softens just slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty much.”

Your heart does something irritating in your chest. Because the worst part is… they’re not wrong in the way that feels scary. It feels inevitable.

Kirara steps closer, just enough that her shoulder brushes yours. Not accidental. Never accidental. “You don’t like it?” she asks.

You should say yes. You don’t. Instead, you exhale, quieter than you meant to.

“…I didn’t say that.” That’s all it takes.

Hakari’s expression shifts, something warmer sliding underneath the confidence.

“Good,” he says simply. Like that was the only answer he needed.

Later, it’s just the three of you on a rooftop. City noise below. Wind cuts lightly through your clothes. Hakari sits behind you, close enough that you can feel him there even when he’s not touching you. Kirara is in front of you, gaze steady, unblinking.

You’re trapped between them in the gentlest way imaginable. Which somehow makes it worse.

Hakari leans in slightly, voice low. “You ever think about what you want?” he asks.

You glance back at him. “That’s a loaded question coming from you.”

He smiles. “Answer it anyway.”

Your eyes drift back to Kirara. She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t give you an inch. So you answer honestly. “…I think I already have it.”

That lands. Something in the air shifts immediately, tight, electric, like the world just locked into place. Kirara’s expression softens by a fraction. Hakari exhales like he’s been waiting a long time to hear that.

“Yeah,” he says, almost satisfied. “That’s what I thought.” And when Kirara finally reaches for your hand, it doesn’t feel like the start of something. It feels like the confirmation of something that was already true.

It still feels a little unreal, even now. Like at any moment, you’ll wake up and it’ll go back to normal, back to being just you, just a gym rat who somehow got pulled into the orbit of something way bigger than himself.

Except it doesn’t. Because every time you reach for reality, there’s proof waiting.

A hand sliding into yours without hesitation. A voice calling your name like it’s the most natural thing in the world. A presence at your side that never really leaves.

Kinji Hakari makes it the least subtle. He doesn’t really try to.

You’re sitting on the edge of his bed in his place, and he just drops down behind you, arms wrapping around your waist like it’s instinct. Like it’s always been allowed.

“You’re tense,” he says against your shoulder.

“I’m always tense,” you reply.

“Yeah,” he hums, squeezing you a little tighter. “But now you’ve got people to fix that.”

There’s a soft sound from the doorway. You don’t even have to turn to know who it is. Kirara steps in like she owns the air in the room.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, really looks, and then at Hakari holding you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Then she walks over. No hesitation. She sits on your other side and leans in, pressing her shoulder against yours like she’s claiming the remaining space.

“Move over,” she says to Hakari.

He grins. “Make me.”

You sigh. “Don’t start.”

Kirara doesn’t even look at him. “He’s mine too.” That shuts him up for half a second.

Then Hakari laughs, soft, amused, almost proud. “Yeah,” he says. “He is.”

And just like that, the tension disappears. Not because it resolves into conflict. Because it never was one. They just… share you. Effortlessly. Like it’s the most natural arrangement in the world.

Later, you’re out with them in public. Which is still something you’re getting used to. People stare sometimes, mostly at them, occasionally at you when they notice you’re somehow standing between two walking disasters like it’s safe.

You try to ignore it, but Hakari doesn’t. He notices everything. A glance too long. A step too close. A stranger lingering too near. He slides an arm around your shoulders without thinking. Not possessive in a loud way. Just certain.

Like yes, this is mine, but more importantly, this is where I am.

Kirara does something quieter. She takes your hand. Interlaces her fingers with yours like it’s the most normal thing she could possibly do. No announcement. No performance. Just connection.

“You’re distracted,” she says.

“I’m always distracted,” you repeat.

She squeezes your hand once. “Not anymore.”

Hakari leans down slightly. “We’re right here, you know.”

You glance between them. “…Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

And you do. That’s the thing. It’s not overwhelming anymore. It’s grounding.

That night, you end up back with them again. Somewhere between joking and talking and nothing in particular, you end up sandwiched between them on a couch that’s definitely too small for three people.

And nobody moves. Nobody wants to.

Hakari is warm at your back, chin resting lazily near your shoulder like he’s already halfway asleep.

Kirara is curled into your side, her head tilted slightly against you, fingers still tangled with yours like she forgot to let go and decided she never needed to.

“You ever think about leaving?” Hakari asks suddenly.

It’s casual. Almost lazy. But you feel Kirara go still against you.

You don’t answer immediately. Not because you don’t know, but because the answer feels too obvious to say out loud. So instead, you shift slightly, leaning more into both of them.

“…No,” you say. A pause.

Then Hakari exhales, like something in him settles. “Good,” he says quietly.

Kirara doesn’t say anything. She just tightens her hold on your hand. Like she already knew. Like she was just waiting for you to catch up.

[applepiiex]

Hiii, I don't really know if you do parts 2, but I started following you since I read the "House A Home" fic and it's been absolutely stuck on my head over and over again that I have read it easily about 5 times already. I was wondering if you could do a second part where, maybe, it has been a couple months since the end of the fic (maybe a year?)

Reader is in the middle of a business trip away from home when it's late and Toji finds Megumi crying on the couch after work, when Toji tries to comfort him he just denies him and tells his something like

"I want dad..."

And when Toji tries to comfort him again telling him that dads right there he just sobs and shakes his head, repeating his words for Toji to understand

"I don't want papa, I want dad..."

While he just starts crying again, Toji realizes that Megumi is actually talking about reader.

I think that would be really cute and show to Toji how much reader is important to Megumi and maybe to himself a little. Or something like that, you can take all the creative freedom you want, I absolutely love the way you wrote them as a family !

Hope this request isn't too much and a bunch of info dump and if it is you can decide what to change, or not even post it, I'll be fine with that.

It's just and idea that have been popping in my mind recently <3

IN MY HEART !

Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

Toji never thought that someone would stay, much less put up with his kid. Not that Megumi was a bad kid, but reserved. After so many people, Megumi didn't let any of his father's flings ever have a say in how he feels. However, here you've proven to be the exception.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The apartment is warm when Toji Fushiguro gets home. Warm in that quiet, lived-in way he still hasn’t fully gotten used to. There’s laundry folded on the arm of the couch. Tiny sneakers kicked off by the door. The fridge hums steadily beneath a clutter of magnets you and Megumi collected from cheap grocery stores and corner shops like they were priceless souvenirs.

Home. His home.

The thought still catches strangely in his chest sometimes.

It’s late. Later than he promised he’d be. The job ran long, then traffic got backed up halfway through the city, and now exhaustion sits heavy in his bones as he shrugs off his jacket. 

Usually by this point, Megumi’s asleep already. Usually you’re curled on the couch waiting up for him with some shitty reality show playing quietly in the background. But you’re three states away for work this week, and the apartment feels different without you in it. Too quiet.

Toji rubs at the back of his neck as he steps farther inside. “Megs?” No answer.

His brows knit immediately. The TV glows softly in the darkened living room, muted cartoons flickering against the walls, and there, curled into the corner of the couch beneath one of your blankets is Megumi.

The little boy’s shoulders shake silently. Toji freezes. “…Megumi?”

Megumi jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. Toji’s stomach twists immediately. His son’s face is blotchy red from crying. Tears cling wetly to his lashes while he presses both fists hard against his eyes like he’s trying to stop more from coming out.

Toji moves closer automatically. “What happened?”

Megumi shakes his head hard.

“Hey.” Toji crouches carefully in front of the couch. “Talk t’me, brat.”

Another shake. Then a tiny broken hiccup. Toji feels genuine panic start crawling unpleasantly up his spine. Megumi rarely cried like this anymore. Not since you. Not since the apartment started feeling stable and warm and safe.

Toji reaches out instinctively, rough palm brushing against the little boy’s knee. “C’mere.”

Megumi immediately scoots backward instead. “No.” The word is tiny. Wobbly. But it still hits Toji square in the chest.

“…What?”

“I want dad.”

Toji blinks once. His exhausted brain struggles to process the sentence properly. “I’m right here.”

Megumi’s face crumples harder instantly. “No,” he sobs, voice cracking. “I don’t want papa.”

The words land like a punch. Toji goes still.

Megumi curls tighter into the blanket, crying openly now. “I want dad…”

And suddenly Toji understands. Not papa. Dad. You.

The apartment goes strangely quiet around him for a second. Megumi’s tiny shoulders shaking beneath your blanket. Your blanket. The one Megumi drags around the apartment whenever you travel because it smells like your detergent and the stupid citrus fabric softener you always buy.

Toji stares at his son silently, and something in his chest aches so hard it almost feels unbearable. Because Megumi misses you. Not casually. Not in the vague fond way kids miss adults sometimes. No. This is the kind of missing that lives deep in little bones. The kind built slowly over bedtime stories and packed lunches and cartoon pancakes and warm hands helping tie tiny shoes before school. You carved yourself into Megumi’s life so gently that neither of them noticed it happening.

Until now.

Toji swallows hard. “…Hey,” he says quietly.

Megumi keeps crying. Toji’s never been good at this part. He knows how to fight. Survive. Bleed quietly. But comforting people… Especially people he loves… Still feels like trying to hold water in scarred hands.

He sits carefully on the edge of the couch instead. The cushions dip beneath his weight. Megumi doesn’t move away this time.

“That bad, huh?” Toji mutters softly.

Megumi sniffles miserably. “He always reads m’story.”

The tiny devastated way he says it nearly kills Toji instantly, because yeah, you do. Every night. Even when exhausted. Even when Megumi asks for the same dinosaur book six times in a row.

Toji rubs a hand slowly over his jaw. “He’ll call tomorrow.”

“I want him now.” Christ. Toji closes his eyes briefly. Then sighs.

“C’mere, Megs.” 

This time, after a long hesitant second Megumi crawls into his lap. Still crying. Toji wraps both arms around him automatically, holding the little boy carefully against his chest while tiny fingers clutch desperately at his hoodie.

“He said four sleeps,” Megumi mumbles tearfully.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s too many.”

Toji exhales slowly through his nose. You’d only been gone two days, and apparently both of them were handling it badly. He rests his chin lightly against Megumi’s messy hair.

“He misses you too, y’know.”

Megumi sniffles. “Really?”

“Hn.”

“How do you know?”

Because the apartment feels colder without you in it. Because Toji keeps reaching for you in bed before remembering the sheets beside him are empty. Because dinner tastes wrong when someone isn’t nagging him about eating vegetables. Because the silence feels heavier now that he’s learned what your laughter sounds like filling it.

But Megumi’s six.

So Toji just says quietly, “He called twice t’day askin’ about you.”

Megumi brightens slightly at that. “He did?”

“Wouldn’t shut up about how you’re probably forgettin’ to brush your teeth.”

“I never forget!”

“That’s what I said.”

Megumi huffs weakly against his chest. Toji’s hand drifts up automatically, fingers combing carefully through soft black hair.

He learned that from you. Everything soft, he learned from you. The realization settles heavily in his chest. A year ago, this apartment was barely livable. Megumi barely spoke. And Toji… Toji thought family was something that happened to other people.

Now his son cries because he misses bedtime stories from the man who painted over water stains and made clown pancakes and loved them both stupidly enough to stay.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

Megumi tilts his head back slightly, eyes still watery. “Do you miss him too?”

Toji stills. Dangerous question. Tiny little thing. But dangerous. Megumi watches him with your same quiet patience. Waiting.

Toji looks away first. “…Yeah,” he mutters eventually.

The word comes rough. Honest. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something open in him. Because saying it out loud makes it real. You’re not temporary anymore. Not some soft thing passing through their lives. 

You’re woven into this place now.

Into Megumi.

Into him.

Megumi nods sleepily like the answer makes perfect sense. “Me too.”

Toji huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

The crying finally slows after that. Megumi sags heavily against him, exhausted from all the tears. Toji glances toward the clock. Too late to call you. You’re probably asleep in some hotel room across the country.

Still, he reaches for his phone anyway. Megumi notices immediately.

“Calling dad?”

“Nah.” Toji opens the camera instead.

Megumi blinks. “What’re you doing?”

Toji angles the phone carefully toward the two of them. “Quit lookin’ confused,” he mutters. “He’s gonna lose his mind if he finds out you cried this hard without him.”

Megumi giggles weakly despite himself. There it is. That tiny sound. Toji snaps the picture before Megumi can hide his face. Then another. One where Megumi’s tucked sleepily against his chest beneath your blanket. Safe. Loved. Home.

Toji stares at the photo for a long second before finally typing out a message beneath it.

your kid misses you.

think he’s emotionally manipulative.

come home soon.

He hesitates. Then adds, after another second:

we both do.

Megumi’s already half asleep against him by the time the message sends. Toji sets the phone aside carefully before leaning back into the couch. 

The apartment stays quiet around them. Soft. Waiting. And for the first time in his life, Toji Fushiguro realizes missing someone can feel a whole lot like love.

[applepiiex]

ok but imagine if nanami's little son had gojo's personality??? the child and gojo would disturb nanami so much that he would wonder if he was paying karma from another life lol

the child playing pranks both at home and at school and nanami is tired as the sermons don't work

the son is a chaos of candy, paint, and surprising energy – but there is one thing the little guy is most afraid of: his other dad, reader

FINGER PAINTINGS

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

Nanami genuinely believes the universe cursed him with karmic punishment when his tiny son turns out to have the exact same energy as Satoru Gojo. Between glitter attacks, school pranks, paint disasters, and Gojo actively encouraging the behavior, Nanami is permanently exhausted. But while Tashi fears absolutely nothing else in the world, one disappointed look from his other dad—you—is enough to stop the chaos instantly. Underneath all the troublemaking though, Tashi is just a wildly affectionate little boy who loves his family more than anything.

𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋

There were exactly three things Nanami Kento feared in life.

First: unnecessary overtime. Second: poorly written reports. And third:  His six-year-old son after spending too much time with Satoru Gojo.

“Tashi,” Nanami said with the exhausted calm of a man one inconvenience away from spiritually leaving his body, “why is there glitter in my briefcase.”

Tiny footsteps froze somewhere down the hallway. Silence.

Then, “Oops?”

Nanami closed his eyes slowly. From the kitchen, you physically bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, because unfortunately, your son was adorable. Horrifying, but adorable.

Nanami looked down at the shimmering disaster coating his paperwork with the same expression people usually reserved for natural disasters.

“How,” he spoke flatly, “was this an accident?”

“I was working on a project.”

“The school didn’t tell us you have a project.”

“That’s because it’s for fun!” Tashi defended immediately while peeking around the hallway corner.

There he was. Tiny. Bright-eyed. Entirely too energetic for eight in the morning. Your son looked like Nanami in coloring alone. Blonde hair, familiar eyes, but personality-wise? The child had somehow inherited every chaotic trait Gojo possessed despite sharing absolutely no DNA with the man. Which was unfortunate, especially because Gojo encouraged it. Aggressively.

“Kids need whimsy, Nanami,” Gojo had once declared while helping Tashi tape googly eyes onto every framed photo in your apartment.

Nanami had nearly thrown him out. Now Tashi stood in the hallway covered suspiciously in marker stains while Nanami carefully dumped glitter from his briefcase directly into the trash.

“You told him not to do arts and crafts near your work bag,” you reminded gently.

“I did.”

Tashi gasped dramatically. “I forgot.”

Nanami stared at him. The tiny liar stared back. Then Tashi smiled, exactly like Gojo. Bright. Shameless. Dangerous. Nanami looked toward the ceiling briefly.

“Perhaps this is punishment for something I did in a previous life.”

You snorted into your coffee. Tashi immediately perked up. “Papa laughed, so I’m not in trouble anymore.”

“You are absolutely still in trouble,” Nanami replied.

Tashi’s shoulders slumped. “Aw.”

The problem with Tashi was that traditional discipline simply did not work on him. Lectures? Ineffective. Timeouts? He’d somehow turn them into games. Confiscating sugar? He’d cry like a Victorian orphan for twenty minutes until even Nanami folded emotionally. The child operated entirely on cartoon logic and unearned confidence. And unfortunately Gojo found him hysterical.

“Mini-me!” Gojo had once announced proudly while Tashi hung upside down off the couch cushions wearing sunglasses indoors. Nanami didn’t know how he felt about that.

Things only got worse once Tashi started school. You’d received three phone calls that month alone. One because Tashi had somehow convinced two classmates that the principal was secretly a vampire, and was convincing them to bring garlic to school. One because he’d filled his teacher’s desk drawers with candy wrappers because he was bored. And one because he’d released a ladybug collection into the library. 

Nanami sat through every parent-teacher conference looking more exhausted each time.

Meanwhile Tashi usually sat beside him swinging his legs innocently while whispering things like, “Nobody got hurt, Dada.” “It was funny.” “I just wanted to make people smile.”

Today’s issue, unfortunately, involved paint. A lot of paint. You walked into the living room after hearing suspicious giggling only to stop dead in your tracks. “…Oh no.”

The coffee table was covered in tiny handprints. Blue paint streaked across the floor, and in the middle of the chaos sat Tashi and Gojo together cross-legged on the carpet like two criminals at a crime scene.

Gojo looked up cheerfully. “Welcome home!”

Tashi waved paint-covered fingers. “We made art!”

You stared at the wall. There was now a mural. A huge mural. Involving dinosaurs. The wall you had just painted two weeks ago. You inhaled deeply. Gojo visibly sensed danger immediately and pointed at Tashi.

“He was the mastermind.”

“Meanie!” Tashi gasped.

Nanami walked in three seconds later. Stopped. Looked at the wall. Then quietly sat down on the couch without saying anything.

You recognized that silence. Oh, he was gone mentally.

“Tashi,” Nanami said eventually, voice oddly calm, “why.”

“We got inspired.”

“By what?”

Gojo raised his hand proudly. “Creativity.”

Nanami looked genuinely close to tears, or exhaustion, or frustration. “I work ten hours a day.”

“You sure do, buddy,” Gojo agreed.

“You are not helping.”

The horrifying thing was that Tashi clearly expected Nanami’s reaction. Expected lectures. Expected sighs. What he didn’t expect was you quietly saying his name. Just once.

“Tashi.”

Immediate silence.

The room changed instantly. Gojo physically leaned away from the blast zone, because unlike everyone else, Tashi feared you. Not because you were mean. You weren’t.

But because you rarely got genuinely upset. Which somehow made it infinitely scarier when you were. Tashi slowly turned toward you with wide eyes.

“…Yes, Papa?” Tiny voice.

Oh, now he remembered manners. You crossed your arms slowly.

“What did we say about painting on walls?”

“…Paper only.”

“And did this wall look like paper to you?”

Tashi glanced nervously at Gojo, hoping he would save him. Gojo betrayed him immediately.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Sensei!”

“Sorry, kid. I’m not surviving this with you.”

Nanami covered his mouth suspiciously fast. You narrowed your eyes slightly.

“Tashi.”

The tiny menace wilted instantly. “…Sorry.”

There it was. The real secret. Tashi didn’t fear punishment. He feared disappointing you. Nanami noticed it too, expression softening immediately. Because beneath all the chaos and glitter and paint stains, Tashi loved you and Nanami more than anything. He just happened to be powered entirely by sugar and poor decision-making.

You sighed quietly before kneeling down beside him. “Come here.”

Tashi immediately launched himself into your arms with dramatic sniffles and small tears.

“I was making art.”

“I know you were.”

“The dinosaur needed a family.”

You blinked once, then looked back at the mural. Sure enough, the badly painted dinosaurs were holding hands. One in a suit, one wearing little glasses, and one tiny one in the middle.

Your chest ached instantly. Nanami looked over too. And just like that, some of the exhaustion melted from his face. “…Oh.”

Tashi peeked up at you nervously. “Are you still mad?”

“A little.” Tiny sad gasp.

“But,” you added carefully, brushing paint from his cheek, “I know you didn’t mean to make a mess.” Tashi nodded quickly against your shoulder.

Behind you, Gojo whispered dramatically to Nanami, “He’s somehow really scary.”

Nanami looked deeply emotional. “You have no idea.”

You shot both of them a look. Gojo straightened immediately. Nanami actually looked away to hide a smile.

Tashi wrapped his little arms tighter around your neck before mumbling quietly, “Sorry, Papa.”

You kissed the top of his messy blonde hair softly. “Next time we use canvas.”

“…A really big canvas?”

Nanami groaned instantly as Gojo looked inspired. You realized with horrible clarity that this household was never going to know peace again.

[applepiiex]

Idk if u write for sukuna buuuuut!

Sukuna x Toji x m!reader. Like. Big muscly men but with soft muscles that are perfect to lay your head on. Muscly thighs that are perfect to nuzzle. Big pecs that are perfect squish. Pure fluff with sukufushi x reader, maybe some baby megumi or somethingggg. Chat i js want big muscly men to headlock me or to just collapse into their big chest. Gulp

CUDDLE TIME!

Ryomen Sukuna & Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

You somehow ended up living every man’s dream, being sandwiched between two muscles on a couch while they argue over who’s more comfortable to cuddle. With little Megumi climbing all over the three of you, warm cuddles, sleepy kisses, giant hands holding you close, and the terrifying realization that the two scariest men alive are absolute suckers for their family.

═════════════════════

The apartment was suspiciously quiet. Which, in a household containing Ryomen Sukuna, Toji Fushiguro, and a four-year-old Megumi Fushiguro, usually meant something terrible was happening.

You narrowed your eyes slightly as you stepped further into the living room. “Megumi?”

Silence. Dangerous silence. Then… a tiny giggle.

You turned toward the couch just in time to see Megumi dive face-first beneath a blanket pile. Ah. So that was the game today. Unfortunately for him, both of his fathers were helping.

Toji sat sprawled across one end of the couch in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that strained distractingly across his chest, looking entirely too pleased with himself for a grown man assisting in toddler espionage. Sukuna lounged on the opposite side with one arm draped over the back cushions, broad chest exposed thanks to the fact he apparently considered shirts a disgrace to the natural state. Both men looked deeply untrustworthy.

“You’re hiding him,” you accused immediately.

Toji looked offended. “Would never.”

“Mhm.”

Sukuna smirked lazily. “Maybe the brat disappeared.”

Another muffled giggle came from under the blanket. You stared flatly.

Sukuna shrugged. “Could be ghosts.”

“Toji.”

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“So?”

“That means you’re guilty.”

Toji’s grin widened immediately, scar pulling slightly at the corner of his mouth. God, the two of them together were unfair. Not even in an intimidating way anymore. Just… Big. Warm. Comfortable. Built like absolute monsters while simultaneously functioning as the world’s most dangerous weighted blankets.

You’d discovered very early into the relationship that both Sukuna and Toji ran warm naturally, which made cuddling with either of them addictive beyond reason. Especially after long days. There was something deeply healing about collapsing face-first into broad pecs and solid muscle while one of them lazily dragged a hand through your hair. Or worse… getting trapped between both of them on the couch. Which was exactly what happened now.

Before you could react, Toji hooked an arm around your waist and yanked you backward dramatically. You barely got out a surprised noise before landing across his lap with a heavy oomph.

“There,” Toji said easily, pinning you against his chest one-armed like you weighed nothing. “Now you can’t interrogate witnesses.”

“You’re literally obstructing justice.”

Sukuna snorted from the other side of the couch. Megumi’s tiny head finally peeked out from the blanket mountain. 

You pointed immediately. “Found you.” Megumi gasped dramatically before scrambling out entirely and launching himself toward you. Unfortunately, Toji still had you trapped in what could only be described as a very affectionate headlock.

“Help,” you told Megumi weakly. Megumi considered this carefully. Then climbed directly onto your stomach instead.

“Traitor,” you muttered.

Toji laughed quietly against the top of your head, chest rumbling warmly behind you. The sound did terrible things to your ability to function normally. Because annoyingly enough, both Sukuna and Toji had voices built specifically to ruin people. Deep. Rough. Sleepy around the edges at home in ways they never sounded around anyone else. 

Domesticity looked delicious on them, especially Toji. There was something genuinely unfair about a man built like a hitman casually helping his son color dinosaur pages at the kitchen table.

Sukuna reached over lazily and grabbed the back of your hoodie, dragging you sideways until your head landed against his chest instead. You sighed automatically at the contact. Warm. Solid. Comfortable enough to make you reconsider every responsibility you had for the rest of the day.

Sukuna looked unbearably smug immediately. “You always end up over here eventually.”

“You’re warm.”

“Told you.”

Toji scoffed. “I’m literally right here.”

“You’re also bony.”

“Bony?” Toji repeated, horrified.

You poked lightly at his ribs. “Sharp edges.”

“Toji loses his shit when you insult his muscles,” Sukuna informed you lazily.

“I do not.”

“You pouted for an hour last week because he called your shoulders ‘pointy.’”

“They are pointy,” you argued.

“Toji’s built like a coat hanger with abs.”

Megumi burst into tiny delighted laughter. Toji looked betrayed.

“You’re all dead to me.”

Despite his words, he immediately tugged you back against him again, one massive hand spreading across your stomach while Megumi climbed into Sukuna’s lap. The couch groaned dangerously beneath the combined weight of all four of you. Sukuna rested his chin briefly on top of Megumi’s messy hair while absently rubbing circles into your shoulder with his thumb.

Quiet settled over the apartment. Comfortable. Soft. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows golden and warm while cartoons played quietly in the background.

You were half trapped between two terrifyingly powerful men and a sleepy toddler. Honestly? Perfect.

Megumi yawned suddenly, rubbing at his eyes. Toji immediately softened. It happened every time. The second Megumi looked sleepy or upset or sick, Toji transformed into the world’s most emotionally compromised father.

“You tired, kid?” Megumi nodded solemnly.

Sukuna snorted softly. “He fought to sleep for three hours and now suddenly he’s exhausted.”

“I wasn’t tired before.”

“Sure.” Megumi climbed clumsily off Sukuna’s lap and directly onto yours instead, small hands grabbing fistfuls of your hoodie.

“Papa.” Your chest melted instantly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Up.”

Toji grinned immediately. “You created this problem.”

“You encouraged it.”

“And I’d do it again.”

You adjusted Megumi carefully against your chest, smiling when he immediately tucked his face against your neck sleepily. Sukuna watched the interaction quietly for a moment. Then his expression softened almost imperceptibly.

Most people would miss it. You never did. There was something strangely tender about Sukuna when it came to the two of you. Possessive still. Sharp around the edges, but soft in ways nobody else got to see. Especially during moments like this. Domestic little moments he pretended not to care about while secretly loving all along.

“You’re staring,” you murmured.

Sukuna hummed lazily. “You look comfortable.”

“I am comfortable.”

Toji hooked his chin over your shoulder from behind immediately. “He means you look cute.”

“I did not say that.”

“You were thinking it.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes dramatically. Then reached over and pulled you closer anyway. Your face ended up half squished against his chest while Toji stayed pressed warm against your back. Completely trapped now, not that you minded. 

Honestly, you were pretty sure this exact scenario could heal you. Big muscly men holding you hostage through affection. Terrible fate.

You sighed contentedly into Sukuna’s chest.

Toji immediately smirked. “Hear that? That’s the sound he makes when he’s happy.”

“I’ll bite you.”

“You say that every time.”

Megumi, already half asleep against you, mumbled quietly, “Family cuddle.”

The room went soft instantly. Even Sukuna froze for half a second. Toji’s expression melted completely. And then Megumi, with the devastating emotional precision only small children possessed, sleepily reached one tiny hand outward toward both of them.

“C’mere.” Toji made the weakest wounded noise you’d ever heard from a grown man.

“Oh, we’re done for,” you whispered.

“Absolutely finished,” Toji agreed.

Sukuna muttered something about manipulative children while immediately pulling the blanket over all of you anyway. Which was how you ended up buried beneath two giant men and one sleepy toddler while late sunlight warmed the apartment around you.

Toji’s fingers lazily traced patterns against your side. Sukuna’s hand rested heavy and warm on your thigh. Megumi snored softly against your chest. And honestly? You could’ve stayed there forever.

[applepiiex]

Hello, I would like to request a fluff fic with Nanami x autistic male reader. The scenario I have in mind is a college modern au where they end up meeting each other in the library because of how often they go there and one day they end up talking, become friends and eventually fall in love, something very sweet and soft; but feel free to change the scenery and add whatever touches you need, I know it will be something very well written and beautiful. I appreciate and love sm your work and how much effort you put to give us awesome fics!

AS EASY AS BREATHING ~ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

It's sometimes hard for people to understand you. You don't mean to be difficult, but surprises, weird metaphors, and overall lack of clarity is just frustrating. It's like swimming in murky water. Thankfully, the student across the table becomes a lighthouse, in a way, if we're doing metaphors.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑

The university library was your favorite place on campus for three very specific reasons.

One: it was quiet.

Two: people usually minded their own business.

Three: the third floor corner by the east windows had the best lighting and the least amount of interruptions.

Consistency mattered to you. You liked routines. Predictability. Familiar things. So every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, you sat in the same spot with your headphones resting around your neck, your notebooks organized in neat stacks while rain tapped softly against the windows outside.

And almost every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, he was there too. You noticed him long before you ever spoke to him. Mostly because he was difficult not to notice. Tall. Blonde. Always dressed neatly even compared to the rest of the exhausted college population stumbling around campus in hoodies and sleep deprivation. He wore watches that looked expensive and carried himself with the kind of calm composure that made everyone else seem louder by comparison.

He also always sat three tables away from you. Always. Like clockwork.

The first few weeks, you assumed coincidence.

Then it kept happening.

Same floor. Same time. Same quiet atmosphere.

He’d arrive with coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other before settling into his seat with a tired sigh.

You learned his habits accidentally.

He highlighted important information in straight precise lines. He preferred physical textbooks over online PDFs. He drank his coffee too quickly and then stared at the empty cup for exactly 23 minutes before throwing the cup away. Sometimes he loosened his tie when frustrated with assignments.

You tried not to stare during those moments. Mostly unsuccessfully. You didn’t know his name at first. Only that his presence became strangely comforting. Familiar. Predictable. Safe. And maybe that sounded odd considering you’d never spoken to him, but there was something grounding about sharing quiet space with someone who understood library etiquette on a spiritual level.

Then one afternoon, your routine changed.

You arrived late because your Professor forgot to review the slide deck answer key. Not horribly late, just enough to realize with immediate distress that your usual seat was occupied. You stopped short near the table, fingers tightening slightly around your books. 

Someone else sat there laughing loudly into their phone. Wrong. Everything felt wrong instantly. You hated when plans changed unexpectedly. The noise. The disruption. The sudden feeling of being untethered from something familiar. You stood there awkwardly for several long seconds trying to figure out where else to go without feeling like your skin fit incorrectly.

Then—

“You can sit here.”

You looked up sharply. The blonde man from three tables away was watching you calmly over the top of his book.

“There’s another chair,” he added after a moment.

Your brain stalled briefly. “Oh.”

“You look distressed.”

“I am.” Something unexpectedly amused flickered across his face. Understandable, honestly. Most people didn’t answer that kind of statement so bluntly. 

You hesitated before finally walking over carefully and sitting across from him. The chair felt unfamiliar. The angle of the light was different… but at least it was quiet.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was lower up close. Calm. Steady. You liked it immediately.

For several minutes, silence settled between you comfortably. Not awkward silence. Just shared quiet. The kind you preferred. Then he glanced up again.

“You always sit by the window.” You blinked.

“You noticed?”

“You always organize your notes by color.”

Your face warmed slightly. “You noticed that too?”

“It’s hard not to.” He said it matter-of-factly rather than judgmentally.

That helped. Most people noticed things about you eventually. The routines. The stimming. The way you got overwhelmed easily in crowded places or struggled with sudden changes. Some reacted strangely afterward, but he just sounded observant. Not cruel.

You looked down at your notebook for a second before answering quietly. “I like patterns.”

“They’re reliable.” You looked up immediately.

His expression stayed calm as he turned a page in his textbook. Reliable. Not weird. Not obsessive. Not childish. Reliable. Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly. “…Yeah.”

The corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly. “I’m Nanami, by the way.”

You told him your name and somehow, after that, talking became easy. Not instantly. Not perfectly. But easier than it usually felt with new people. 

Nanami never interrupted you when you spoke. Never looked impatient when you needed extra time gathering your thoughts. Never treated your habits like inconveniences.

If the library got too loud, he’d silently slide one of his noise-canceling earbuds across the table toward you without making a big deal out of it. If you forgot to eat while studying, he’d place convenience store snacks beside your books with quiet reminders.

“You need actual food to function.”

“You sound like my doctor.”

“I’m correct though.”

“…Unfortunately.” 

And little by little, your routines shifted. Now there were two coffee cups on the table instead of one. Two backpacks resting beside the chairs. Two people occupying the quiet corner by the east windows every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

People started assuming you were together long before either of you acknowledged the possibility yourselves. It happened slowly for you. Feelings were complicated sometimes. Hard to identify until they became overwhelming enough to demand attention.

But Nanami… Nanami was patient with everything. Including you.

Especially you.

One evening during finals week, the library stayed open late. Rain hammered softly against the windows while most students downstairs panicked over exams. You sat cross-legged in your chair trying to finish an essay while your fingers tapped restlessly against your sleeve.

Too much noise. Too many people. Too many thoughts pressing against each other in your head.

Nanami noticed immediately. “You’re overwhelmed.”

It wasn’t a question. You exhaled shakily. “A little.”

Without another word, he closed his textbook and stood. You looked up in confusion.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“The vending machines downstairs are broken,” he said calmly. “Which means nobody’s using the courtyard.”

“…It’s raining.”

“Yes.” You stared at him. Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.

“You like the rain.” Your chest ached unexpectedly, because he remembered things.

Small things.

Important things. He remembered how you liked to sit outside in the rain and listen to the water on the pavement. The rain meant less people outside, and the sound was calming like the waves.

You followed him outside quietly. The covered courtyard was cool and nearly empty, the sound of rainfall soft instead of overwhelming now that it wasn’t trapped inside crowded walls.

Better. Breathable.

Nanami leaned beside you against the railing. Neither of you spoke for a while. You watched rainwater ripple across the pavement below. Then quietly, you said, “Thank you.”

Nanami looked over. “For what?”

“You notice when things are hard.”

Something softened in his expression immediately. “You notice things about me too.”

That was true. You noticed when he got tension headaches from studying too long. When he was tired enough to loosen his tie. When he pretended not to be stressed so other people wouldn’t worry.

Silence settled again. Comfortable. Warm.

Then Nanami spoke quietly. “I think,” he said carefully, “you’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around.”

Your heart stumbled hard against your ribs. You looked at him quickly. Nanami met your gaze steadily. No teasing. No uncertainty. Just honesty.

“You don’t make me guess what you mean,” he continued softly. “You don’t play games with people. Being around you is… peaceful.”

Nobody had ever described you that way before. Too blunt sometimes. Too quiet. Too particular. Too much. But peaceful? Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Nanami seemed to notice immediately because his expression softened further. “You don’t have to say anything back right now.”

“I want to,” you admitted quietly. The rain filled the silence for a moment. Then you looked down at your hands before speaking carefully. “You make things feel less loud.”

Nanami inhaled softly, and before you could second-guess yourself, you added, “I think I like you.”

For the first time since meeting him, Nanami Kento looked genuinely caught off guard. Not upset. Just surprised. Then something warm unfolded slowly across his face. Small. Soft. Real.

“I was hoping you would,” he admitted. Your stomach flipped violently.

Nanami stepped a little closer beneath the shelter of the courtyard roof. Close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. Not overwhelming. Not sudden. Just there.

Giving you time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t.

“You know,” he said quietly, “we’ve technically been dating emotionally for at least two months. If the way our schedules line up now are anything to measure by.”

You laughed unexpectedly. Nanami smiled immediately at the sound.

God. You loved his smile. That realization hit hard and immediate. Dangerous. Wonderful.

The rain continued falling around you while the campus lights glowed softly through the darkness. And for the first time in a very long time, change didn’t feel frightening at all.

[applepiiex]

AHHHHHHH HIIIII YOU DONT HAVE TO READ THIS IF YOU DONT WANNA

Ima trans guy who still reads fem reader content cause.. there isn't many male writers that write jn a style i like. One of your stories showed up on my tumblrrrrr and the squeal I let out when I learned it was a male reader storyyyyy!! I instantly followedddddd

Awww thank you, this means a lot! I’ve been in the same boat, but there reaches a point where I think you just get fed up with it. Glad to see other trans guys reading my work :,) as it’s literally the main goal. Apologies for my hiatus, but I’m back!

[applepiiex]

Thank you for sharing ur fics, I really appreciate and love ur works! Also I'm sorry abt my eng, isn't my first language

Thank you for the support! ❤️ I love sharing my work with my fellow male readers

[applepiiex]

RUDE AWAKENING ! ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Frank Langdon x Male!Reader

Okay, there is a reason Dr. Langdon is known as ER Ken. He is stupidly good looking, witty, and annoyingly amazing at what he does. You know you hit the jackpot if the rock on your finger was anything to go by. However, that didn't mean others didn't try to play with your doll. Thankfully, Whitaker and Javadi are there to keep the sharks off him. A/N: Heavily inspired by this amazing fic by bruceshubby!! Please check it out!!

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Everyone in the emergency department noticed the new intern’s crush on Frank Langdon before Frank did. Mostly because Frank was oblivious to things unless they were actively bleeding.

“You need to stop staring at him like that,” Javadi warned quietly on the second day of the rotation.

The intern, Claire, twenty-six, intelligent, ambitious, and unfortunately convinced she could flirt her way through intimidation, didn’t even look embarrassed. “I’m not staring.”

“You haven’t even typed a word in your chart.”

“Not that big of a deal.”

Whitaker glanced over from the computer station. “Uh, yeah it is,” still charting for a patient he saw 3 hours ago.

Across the ED, Frank was reviewing labs at the nurses’ desk completely unaware of the gossip occurring around him. Claire sighed dreamily.

“I mean, come on.”

Javadi looked horrified already. “No.”

“He’s hot.”

Whitaker stopped typing. 

“What?”

“You can’t say that.”

“I can think it.”

“You’re saying it out loud.”

Claire shrugged shamelessly. “Have you seen him?”

Unfortunately, everyone had. Frank Langdon had the deeply unfair combination of exhaustion and attractiveness that seemed genetically engineered to ruin people’s judgment.

The brushed back hair that falls in front of his face. The sharp sarcasm and quick wit. The tired yet aqua eyes. The competency and his skill. It was a problem, but also, “Langdon is engaged,” Whitaker said carefully.

Claire waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not the same as married.”

Javadi stared at her like a scared sheep. “That is an insane sentence.”

“I’m just saying, people get engaged all the time.”

“And stay engaged,” Whitaker added.

Claire grinned slightly. “Or they don’t.”

Unfortunately for literally everyone, she chose that exact moment to walk directly towards Langdon while he made his way over to an available station to read a chart. Frank looked up from the chart as Claire leaned casually against the desk beside him.

“Dr. Langdon.”

“Mm?”

“You busy tonight?”

Frank continued typing without looking up. “Yup.”

Claire laughed like he’d said something charming instead of dismissive. “Well, if you weren’t…”

Frank finally glanced up briefly. “I am.” Still oblivious.

Javadi covered her face with both hands. Claire persisted anyway. “You know,” she said lightly, “I heard someone say you’re engaged.”

“I am.”

“Serious relationship?”

Frank blinked once. Then slowly looked at her over the top of the computer, both confused and somewhat offended. “Yes,” he said flatly. “That is generally how engagements work.”

Javadi couldn’t help the snort, and Whittaker was trying his hardest not to give a crazy side eye. Claire, somehow, remained entirely undeterred.

“That doesn’t answer whether you’re happy.”

Okay. Now the room got weird. Several nearby nurses who were totally not eavesdropping, Perlah and Princess, visibly stopped pretending not to listen. Even Robby glanced over from his walk to Central 5 with an exhausted expression that clearly said please do not make this my problem.

Frank stood up from the computer carefully. For the first time in all the conversation, he actually looked mildly annoyed. “I’m very happy,” he said evenly.

Claire smiled slightly. “You sure?”

Javadi muttered, “Oh my God.”

Frank opened his mouth to answer—

“Ah, look what the cat dragged it! Isn’t it time for school?” Dana’s charm announced as Frank turned toward her voice. Everything changed instantly, because the second Frank looked up and saw you walking inside holding Tanner’s hand with little Penny balanced against your hip his entire face softened.

“There’s my boys,” Frank said automatically.

Oh.

You smiled the second you spotted him, and unfortunately for Claire’s remaining confidence, you were absurdly handsome. Not just attractive. Model attractive. The kind of handsome that made strangers accidentally lose their train of thought mid-sentence. Tall, effortlessly put together even in casual clothes, Tanner clinging sleepily to one hand while Penny buried her face shyly against your shoulder. Frank looked at you like you personally hung the moon.

Claire went completely silent.

Tanner spotted Frank first. “Dad!”

Frank barely had time to crouch before Tanner launched himself directly into his arms. Frank laughed immediately, catching him easily despite nearly getting knocked backward. “Okay, wow. Hi.”

“You missed breakfast.”

“I know, buddy. I had early rounds.”

Penny reached for him next from your arms with tiny grabby hands. “Daddy, “ and there it was. The final fatal blow. Frank stood, taking Penny carefully against his chest while Tanner remained attached to his side like a barnacle.

“How’s my girl?” he murmured softly. This was apparently what Frank Langdon looked like as a father and fiancé, and honestly it was unfair to witness.

You stepped closer, smiling tiredly. “Sorry to ambush you at work. Tanner left his backpack in your car and apparently this was an emergency.”

“It is,” Tanner defended seriously.

Frank nodded solemnly. “This is why I told you to check your stuff before bed.” You laughed softly. Frank looked at you immediately after, instinctive and warm and so obviously in love it bordered on embarrassing.

You reached over automatically and adjusted Penny’s tiny shoe where it had slipped half off her foot. “Alright, I just need your car keys.”

Frank nodded, telling you his locker combination as he peppered kisses to Penny’s sleep temple. Another devastatingly domestic detail. Claire looked like someone had hit her with a folding chair.

Frank handed Penny carefully back to you before leaning down quickly toward Tanner. “Be good for Papa, okay?” Tanner nodded.

Then Frank stood again, one hand brushing briefly against your waist as he leaned in close enough for only you to hear, “Wanna run me a bath and wait for me in it?,” he murmured.

You grinned. “You say that like I wasn’t already planning to.”

Frank smiled helplessly, and there it was again, that look. That stupidly soft expression that completely transformed him around you and the kids. Like this wasn’t just his family, but it was his world.

Then Penny grabbed at his scrub collar one last time. “Kiss.”

Frank laughed quietly and kissed the top of her head first. Then leaned over and kissed you quickly too. Not dramatic or inappropriate, just familiar and easy. The kind of affection built from real love instead of performance. And somehow that made it infinitely more intimate.

Princess whispered to Perlah, “He becomes a different person around them. Almost normal.”

“You okay there, doctor?” The voice came from Claire.

Frank blinked at her like he’d genuinely forgotten she existed.

“Sorry?”

Claire looked between you, the kids, and Frank again. Then visibly gave up. “…Nothing.”

You looked mildly confused by the tension but thankfully didn’t ask questions. Instead you adjusted the kids on your hips. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

Frank nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be home by seven.”

“Liar,” Dana called immediately.

“Okay,” Frank corrected, “by nine.”

“Also a lie.”

Then, naturally, the chaos of the ED interrupted. “Langdon!” Al-Hashimi called from across the department. “Join me in Trauma Two now.”

Frank sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.”

You laughed under your breath. “We’ll save you leftovers.”

Then Al-Hashimi called for him again from Trauma Two. Frank grimaced. “I gotta go.”

“You should probably save lives, yeah.”

“Unfortunately.”

Tanner tugged his scrub sleeve before he left. “Love you, Dad.”

Frank melted instantly. “Love you too, buddy.”

Then he disappeared back into the chaos of the ED while you headed toward the locker with the kids. Entering the combination, you open the door and grab the car keys, spotting also the polaroid Frank had taken of you years ago. You were resting shirtless on the couch, the TV screen illuminating your face. You were laughing, and you can see the puppy sleeping on your lap. You forgot this photo existed.  

His keys were inside the pocket of his jacket. Fishing it out with Tanner impatiently tugging at your sleeve, you throw the keys with the color beaded keychain into your pocket. Turning out, you shout a quick goodbye to Dana, leading the kids into the staff parking lot to retrieve Tanner’s Spider-Man backpack. 

The entire south station stayed suspiciously quiet for several seconds afterward. Finally, Whitaker turned slowly toward Claire. “So,” he said carefully, “still feeling optimistic?”

Claire stared blankly toward the trauma bay where Frank had vanished.

“…I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.

Javadi snorted loudly and looked smug. “We tried warning you.”

“His kids call him Papa?”

Dana pointed a pen at her. “They told ya’ it was serious,” because of course she overheard everything.

Claire looked genuinely humbled now. “Forget what I said.”

“Pray HR does…” Javadi mutters.

[applepiiex]

FIRST SIGHT ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Frank Langdon x Male!Reader

Frank has had to make a lot of changes since being sent to rehab. A lot of work, lots of new adjustments, new discoveries. Divorce isn't easy, but a gay awakening on his first day back might be harder.

────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ────

Ten months. Ten months of fluorescent rehab hallways, uncomfortable group therapy chairs, forced honesty, and learning how to exist without numbing everything inside his head. Ten months away from the emergency department.

Frank Langdon stood outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, staring up at the hospital like it might reject him if he walked too close. The building looked exactly the same. That almost made it worse.

Ambulances still screamed into the bay. Nurses still hurried through the sliding doors clutching coffees and charts. The familiar organized chaos of the ED buzzed somewhere beyond the walls. Life had kept moving without him.

Frank swallowed hard and finally stepped inside.

The smell hit him first. Antiseptic. Burnt coffee. Hospital soap. Home.

A few heads turned immediately when he entered the department. Some people smiled carefully. Others awkwardly looked away. Frank resisted the urge to turn around and leave. Then Dana spotted him from the nurses’ station.

“Well,” she said with that familiar drawl, “look what rehab finally coughed back up.”

The tension in his chest loosened instantly. Frank huffed out a laugh. “Nice to see you too.”

Dana walked over and pulled him into a quick hug before he could react. It caught him off guard. “You look better,” she said honestly as she pulled back.

“I feel better.”

“That’s new.”

“Yeah, terrifying experience.”

She eyed him for a second longer, like she was checking for cracks. Frank understood. The last time most people here had seen him, he’d been spiraling hard enough to wreck every relationship in his life. Including his marriage.

Dana’s voice softened slightly. “How’s Abby?” 

Frank looked away for half a second. That was enough answer already.

“Oh,” Dana said quietly.

“Yeah.”

She winced sympathetically. “Before rehab?”

He nodded once. “Guess there’s only so many times your husband can promise things’ll get better before you stop believing him.”

Dana’s expression shifted immediately. “Frank…”

“No, it’s fine.” He shrugged, though the movement felt forced. “Actually, it’s probably not fine, but it’s true.” The divorce papers had been finalized three months into treatment.

Abby had visited him once afterward. Just once. Not angry. Not cruel. Just tired. Frank honestly thought that had hurt worse. Dana squeezed his shoulder briefly. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah.”

“You nervous?”

“Violently.”

“That means you still have self-awareness. Good sign.” Frank snorted softly.

Before he could answer, Perlah perked up behind him and Dana with the radio. “EMS inbound. Twenty-four-year-old male, MVA versus utility pole. ETA two minutes.”

And just like that, the ED snapped back into motion. Instinct took over before Frank could think too hard about it. Trauma prep. Gloves. Monitors. Orders. A familiar rhythm flooded back into his body so naturally it almost scared him.

Maybe he still belonged here after all.

The ambulance doors burst open moments later.

“BP’s unstable,” a paramedic was saying quickly while steering the gurney inside. “Possible internal bleeding—”

Frank looked up automatically… and forgot literally every coherent thought in his head.The paramedic speaking was… Beautiful. There was honestly no other word for it.

You moved through the chaos effortlessly, navy uniform sleeves shoved up your forearms, radio clipped to your shoulder while you rattled off vitals with complete confidence. Your voice was steady. Your hands were steady.

Meanwhile Frank’s brain had abruptly stopped functioning altogether, because apparently rehab had not prepared him for whatever the hell this was. 

You glanced up mid-report. Your eyes met his briefly. Then did a tiny double take.

“…and heart rate’s one-forty,” you finished, noticeably slower.

Frank realized with horror that he was still staring. Dana elbowed him hard enough to nearly bruise a rib. “Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?”

“You’re into the paramedic.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Frank turned back toward the trauma patient immediately, face hot. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He was a grown man. A doctor. A recently divorced recovering addict trying to rebuild his life. He should not be internally malfunctioning because one paramedic had nice eyes and forearms. Unfortunately, the situation worsened when you smiled at him.

“Need anything else, doctor?”

Doctor. The word should not have sounded like that.

Frank cleared his throat. “Uh. Nope. We’re good.”

Smooth. Incredible work, Langdon.

You nodded once and stepped back toward the ambulance bay.

Frank watched you leave for approximately three seconds before Dana slowly turned toward him with the most entertained expression he’d seen all day.

“…Frank.”

“What?”

“You know you just checked out a man mid-trauma.”

“I did not.” … “Okay,” he muttered. “Maybe a little.”

Dana stared at him. Then her eyes widened slightly. “Oh my God.”

Frank immediately hated that tone. “What?”

“You didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“You like men.”

Frank opened his mouth. Closed it again. Because the horrifying thing was he genuinely didn’t know. Or maybe he’d never let himself know. His entire adult life had been built around expectations. Marriage. Career. Routine. There had never exactly been time to stop and unpack anything deeper. And now some absurdly pretty paramedic had smiled at him for five seconds and rearranged his entire understanding of himself.

Dana looked delighted. “This is the best day I’ve had in months.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re having a bisexual awakening in Trauma Two.”

“I am not having a bisexual awakening.” Right then, you walked back through the ambulance bay doors carrying paperwork. Frank immediately straightened.

Dana burst out laughing. “Oh, you absolutely are.”

You approached the desk casually, unaware of the psychological warfare currently occurring three feet away. “Forgot the transfer forms,” you explained.

Frank nodded like a man trying very hard to appear normal.

“Right. Forms. Important.”

You blinked once. Then smiled slightly.

“You okay there, doctor?”

Dana physically turned away to hide her laughter. Frank decided that since his dignity was already dying, he might as well commit fully.

“So,” he said, trying for confidence and landing somewhere near catastrophic, “you always save lives looking like that, or is today special?”

Silence. Dana made a chuckle noise. Frank immediately wanted the floor to swallow him whole. What the hell was that? Who says that?

You stared at him for exactly two seconds before laughing softly. Not mocking. Warm. Surprised.

“Oh wow,” you said. “That was terrible.”

Frank covered his face briefly. “I know.”

“No, genuinely impressive levels of terrible.”

“I haven’t flirted since like 2009. I’m operating on outdated software.” That earned another laugh from you. And suddenly the embarrassment felt worth it.

You leaned one shoulder against the counter. “For the record, though…”

Frank looked up cautiously.

“You’re still kind of charming.”

Frank blinked. “Oh.”

“You seem shocked.”

“I am shocked.”

You grinned. The overhead radio crackled from your shoulder then, dispatch calling your unit back out.

You sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.”

“Right.”

You started backing toward the doors before pausing.

“If the flirting software updates itself,” you said casually, “you could always ask me to dinner sometime.”

Frank stared at you.

Dana smacked his arm. “Answer him, idiot.”

“Yes,” Frank blurted immediately. “Absolutely. Yes.”

Your smile widened. “Good.” Then you disappeared back toward the ambulance bay, leaving Frank standing there looking completely stunned.

Dana folded her arms. “You got a date on your first day back.”

Frank still looked shell-shocked. “I think I’m having a medical emergency.”

“You’re having a crush.”

“Worse.”

–

Three days later, Frank stood outside your apartment building holding a bouquet of flowers and experiencing levels of anxiety usually reserved for active hostage situations. This was absurd. He was a physician. He regularly cracked chests during trauma codes.

Why was ringing one apartment buzzer more terrifying than emergency surgery?

Frank looked down at the flowers again. Too much? Too little? Were flowers too formal for a first date? Dana had said they were sweet. Whitaker had said they made him look “like a divorced dad attending prom.”

Neither opinion had helped. Before he could panic himself into leaving, the apartment door opened, and there you were. Casual clothes. Soft smile. Beautiful enough that Frank forgot every prepared sentence instantly.

“You brought flowers?”

His voice came out rougher than intended. “Yeah. I, uh—”

You took them gently from his hands. “They’re nice.”

“I spent more time than I would have liked picking them.”

You laughed quietly, stepping closer. The warm apartment light spilled across your face while Frank stood frozen on the doorstep wondering how someone could make nervousness feel this good.

“You clean up nice, Langdon.”

“You’ve seen me covered in patient blood.”

“Still counts.”

Frank smiled helplessly. For the first time in a long time, something inside his chest felt… lighter. Not fixed, not healed completely, but hopeful.

You tilted your head slightly. “You gonna stand out here all night, doctor?”

Frank finally exhaled a laugh. “Depends.”

“On?”

“You planning on making fun of my flirting the entire date?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” He smiled fully then, nervousness and all. “Would’ve been disappointed otherwise.”

And when you reached for his hand while leading him down the hallway toward the elevator, Frank realized that maybe starting over didn’t have to feel like losing everything. Maybe sometimes it could feel like finally finding something instead.

[applepiiex]

BREAK A LEG !⊹₊⟡⋆

Frank Langdon x Male!Reader

There is a reason they say to never treat family, and Frank is the picture perfect example of it. You barely show up to PTMC, maybe once in a blue moon to pick Frank up after a long shift. You normally only complained about sore feet, but this was a new type of feet related pain, if the blood and twisted ankle were anything of it.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By the time the ambulance doors burst open outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, your name had already spread through the emergency department twice as fast as the incoming trauma alert. Not because of the injury, but because of who you were.

“Wait…him?” Javadi whispered, nearly dropping a clipboard.

“No way," Trinity added.

“That’s actually…”

“The one in the perfume ads?”

“No, kids,” Princess hissed back. “That’s Langdon’s husband.”

You barely registered any of it. Pain consumed everything. Every bump of the gurney sent another violent shock through your body, white-hot agony ripping up your left leg so intensely it stole the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred beneath the harsh ambulance lights while the paramedic beside you kept one hand pressed against your shoulder.

“Stay with me, okay? We’re almost inside.” You tried to answer, but all that came out was a strained noise through clenched teeth. 

The accident replayed in ugly flashes behind your eyes. The photoshoot had been massive. Expensive. One of those ridiculous luxury campaigns where everyone wore black turtlenecks and pretended staring into the distance was a complicated art. There had been towering lights suspended over the set, cameras everywhere, assistants running around screaming about timing. Then the rigging snapped.

You remembered hearing someone yell, then the spotlight crashed down, then nothing but pain.

“Thirty-two-year-old male,” the paramedic rattled off as the doors to the trauma bay flew open. “Crush injury from falling equipment. Suspected femur fracture, possible pelvic involvement. Patient remained conscious. Blood pressure trending down en route.”

Dr. Robby stepped forward immediately, calm and focused in the middle of the chaos. “On my count. One, two, three.” They transferred you onto the trauma bed. The movement nearly made you black out.

“Jesus Christ—” you gasped.

“I know,” Dr. Robby said evenly. “I know it hurts. Don’t move.”

Your left leg looked wrong, horribly wrong. Even through the haze of pain medication and adrenaline, you could tell the femur wasn’t just fractured…it was displaced. Twisted unnaturally beneath bloodied fabric.

A clean break, bad enough to require surgery. Around you, nurses moved quickly. Scissors cut through your ruined clothes. Monitors beeped. Someone adjusted oxygen near your face.

“Pupils reactive,” someone called.

“Pressure’s dropping again.”

“Get another line in.”

You turned your head weakly toward Dr. Robby. “Don’t… call Frank.”

The entire room went quiet for half a second. Dr. Robby exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think that’s going to be an option.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I absolutely understand.” There was a very specific look on his face. The exhausted expression of a man who already knew his shift was about to become infinitely worse.

Princess leaned toward Perlah near the medication cart. “How long you think before he finds out?” She grimaced sympathetically. “Three minutes. Max.”

You would’ve laughed if your leg didn’t feel like someone had shoved molten metal through the bone. Dr. Robby pressed carefully along your abdomen. “Any pain here?”

“Everything hurts.”

“Fair.”

He glanced toward your leg again, jaw tightening slightly. “Let’s get imaging ready. Ortho’s gonna want him upstairs fast.”

Then the trauma bay doors slammed open so hard they rebounded off the wall, and there he was. Frank looked terrifying. Not angry. Worse. Terrified.

His scrubs were half untucked like he’d sprinted across the hospital the second someone told him. His hair was a mess, eyes wide and frantic as he scanned the room until he landed on you.

The second he saw the blood, his face drained completely of color.

“What happened?” Nobody answered quickly enough.

Frank moved to your bedside immediately. “What happened?”

“A lighting rig fell during a shoot,” Dr. Robby said carefully.

Frank looked down at your leg. You physically saw the moment his medical training assessed the damage.

Femur fracture. Severe displacement. Possible blood loss. Possible complications.

His hand found yours instantly. “Oh my God.”

You tried for a smile. “Remember when you told me to break a leg?”

“You’re joking right now?” His voice cracked. “You’re actually joking.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

Frank closed his eyes briefly, gripping your hand harder. For a second, the panic slipped through completely. Not Dr. Langdon. Just your husband.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Dr. Robby cleared his throat. “Frank.”

Frank snapped back into doctor mode instantly, though barely.

“What’s his pressure?”

“Borderline but stable.”

“CT?”

“Pending.”

Frank was already examining your leg himself, careful despite the tension radiating off him. You hissed sharply when his fingers brushed near the fracture site.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You say that like you’re the one who dropped a spotlight on me.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Dr. Robby folded his arms. “You can either be a husband right now or doctor right now, Langdon. Pick one before you become an obstacle.”

To that, his attention stayed fixed entirely on you. “You hit your head?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Frank.”

“Humor me.”

You sighed weakly. “No head injury.”

“Loss of consciousness?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Neck pain?”

“No.”

“Nausea?”

“You are literally asking me questions while my femur’s in another fucking zip code.”

That made Princess chuckle. Frank finally huffed out a shaky laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders for exactly half a second. Then he looked at the blood soaking the sheets beneath your leg and all the fear came rushing back.

You knew that expression. Frank saw horrific injuries every day. Gunshots. Car accidents. Death. Disaster. But this was different, because this was you. And suddenly he wasn’t detached enough to compartmentalize it.

Dr. Robby rested a hand briefly on Frank’s shoulder. “He’s stable.” Frank nodded once.

Then immediately asked, “Has ortho been paged?”

“Yes.”

“And CT?”

“Langdon.”

“I’m asking.”

“You’re hovering.”

“My husband’s in a trauma bay.”

“You’re still hovering.” Frank looked genuinely offended by that.

You squeezed his hand weakly. “Frank.”

His eyes dropped back to yours immediately. You softened your voice. “Breathe.”

That finally got through to him. Barely. He inhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth for a second before leaning down closer to you.

“I leave you alone for one shift,” he muttered, “and you decide to get crushed by industrial lighting.”

“I wanted attention.”

“You already had attention. You’re literally on billboards.”

“Not from you.”

“Unbelievable.”

Despite everything, your chest hurt from trying not to laugh. Perlah entered with fresh vitals. “Pressure’s improving.”

“Good,” Dr. Robby said. “Let’s move him to imaging.” The second they started preparing the gurney again, anxiety twisted hard in your stomach. Not because of the scans, but because moving hurts.

Frank saw it immediately. His grip tightened around your hand. “Hey.” You swallowed hard. “I know.” 

Your composure cracked then, just slightly. “It hurts.” The admission came out smaller than you intended. Frank’s entire expression softened.

He brushed damp hair back from your forehead carefully, his thumb tracing your temple. “I know it does.” No teasing. No sarcasm. Just quiet reassurance. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “They’re gonna fix it.”

You nodded once. The transport team began rolling the bed toward the doors, but Frank stayed beside you the entire time, walking so close his thigh kept bumping the railing.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you murmured.

“Yes I do.”

“You’re working.”

“I truly do not care.”

Dr. Robby called after him, “You absolutely still have patients.”

“They can survive ten minutes without me.”

“By definition they can not.” Frank cursed silently as he realized he lost. 

Before you were fully out of the hallway,  Frank leaned forward, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. The fear was still there beneath his expression. Still lingering.

“You really scared me,” he admitted quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment. Under the fluorescent hospital lights, Frank looked worn thin. Tense. Exhausted in that way only emergency physicians ever seemed to be. But all of that faded whenever he looked at you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

“I will be.”

He swallowed hard before nodding once. Then, because he was still Frank even in the middle of a crisis, he pointed lightly toward your injured leg.

“You know this kills your runway schedule, right?”

You stared at him.

“You’re reminding me of my crushed career while I’m awaiting surgery?”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you married me anyway.”

Unfortunately true. A nurse stepped into the room. “We’re ready for him.”

Frank stood immediately, still holding your hand until the very last second when they began wheeling your bed toward the operating room doors. You caught the flicker of panic on his face again as he let go.

“Hey,” you called softly. He looked up instantly.

“I love you.” Frank’s expression melted completely.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Love you too.”

Then, with one final squeeze to your fingers, he let them take you into surgery while the entire emergency department prepared for the emotional fallout of Dr. Frank Langdon pretending he was functioning normally for the rest of his shift.

[applepiiex]

would you write for aizawa from mha? i imagine him with a husband who is a wolf hybrid and is a total himbo (but is also a mocker) and the students don't know that aizawa is married (m!reader is an underground vigilante) and they find out because reader was really missing his sleepy hubby and went to visit him:3

and their relationship would be like "seems like they hate each other but in fact they love each other"

inspired by an oc of mine...

THE CAT'S MEOW ! ! !

Aizawa Shouta x Male!Reader

You’ve been careful to keep your identity hidden from the world… until one sleepless night when missing your sleepy, scowling husband just gets the better of you.

═════════════════════

You’ve been pacing in the shadows for fifteen minutes, tail flicking with impatience. The moonlight catches on the tips of your wolf ears, and you know they’re twitching, not because you’re on alert, but because you’re irritated. You’re not supposed to be here. At least, that’s what you told yourself about twenty minutes ago, before you climbed the wall and made a clean landing on the U.A. rooftop.

You’d meant to head home after patrol. Maybe collapse on the couch. Maybe grumble about how much you missed your grumpy husband into the empty air. But then you thought about him, hunched over some file in his office, the way his hair slips loose when he’s tired, the way his eyes half-close when he’s been reading too long. You hadn’t meant to come here. Really. You’d told yourself you’d let him work without distractions. But then your patrol ended early, the streets were too quiet, and all you could think about was your grumpy, perpetually exhausted husband sitting somewhere in that fortress of a school.

And maybe you missed him. Just a little. Not that you’d ever admit it.

You scale the wall with the ease of someone who’s done far more illegal things and land soundlessly on the rooftop. The staff windows are dark except for one office, and there he is. Aizawa Shouta. Hair down, scarf draped over the back of his chair, expression the same brand of bored exhaustion you fell in love with.

You smirk. The window to his office is unlocked. Of course it is, he knew you’d come eventually. You slide it open and step inside without a sound, only to lean against the wall and watch him work. “Paperwork’s gonna kill you before any villain does, Eraser.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps scribbling on whatever hellish paperwork U.A. has buried him under. “I knew it was you,” he mutters. “No one else’s footsteps drag across my sanity like yours.”

Your grin widens. “That’s romantic talk if I’ve ever heard it.”

Finally, he turns, eyes narrowing at you, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re supposed to be working.”

“Finished early,” you say, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “Thought I’d drop by and see if my husband’s still alive. Imagine my shock to find him wasting away in paperwork instead of calling me.”

He sighs, that long-suffering, put-upon sigh, and you know he’s glad you’re here. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you married me.”

He doesn’t even look up. “I told you to stop climbing into the school like a stray cat.”

Your tail flicks. “And I told you to stop ignoring my texts.”

“You sent one,” he says, flipping to the next page in his file. “At two in the morning. It just said, ‘u up?’”

“That’s called affection.” You step closer, grin stretching wider. “Not my fault you don’t appreciate romance.”

He sighs, that dry, exhausted sound you’ve learned is his way of saying ‘I missed you too.’ “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh, please. You think anyone here could actually stop me?”

You’re about to say more when a knock at the door interrupts you. Neither of you has time to react before it slides open and a cluster of wide-eyed students stands there, mid-discussion.

Silence.

Their gazes dart between you, the wolf ears, the tail, the vigilante gear you didn’t bother changing out of, and their homeroom teacher, who looks entirely too calm for the situation.

Aizawa looks mildly annoyed, which is his look for everything, and completely unbothered by the fact you’re standing there in full vigilante gear, tail swaying lazily, wolf ears perked toward the intruders.

One of them blurts out, “Uh… sensei… is this… a villain?”

Your grin sharpens. “Depends on your definition.”

They start whispering among themselves:

‘He looks dangerous.’ ‘Why’s sensei acting like he knows him?’ ‘Those ears are real, right?’

Aizawa cuts them off. “This is… an acquaintance. He was just leaving.”

You tilt your head at him, mock-offended. “‘Acquaintance’? That’s cold.”

“Door,” he says flatly, and the students scurry out.

When it’s quiet again, you raise a brow. “An acquaintance, huh? Hurtful. Very hurtful.”

“Would you rather I tell them the truth?”

You grin and lean in, resting your hands on his desk. “I think you like having me as your little secret.”

He doesn’t answer, which means you’re right, but when his hand slips under the desk to rest against your thigh, you know exactly how much he missed you.

It happens weeks after that night. You’re back at U.A., reluctantly helping patch up a busted training dummy in the support lab when a group of students pass by. They stop, watching you with wide eyes, whispering among themselves.

One finally speaks up. “Wait… aren’t you that vigilante we saw in Eraserhead’s office?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

Another adds, “So why are you here again?”

Before you can answer, Aizawa walks in, hair tied back, scarf draped over his shoulders. He doesn’t even look at them when he says, “Because he lives with me.”

The silence that follows is priceless.

You grin, fangs flashing. “Translation: I’m his husband.”

The students absolutely lose it.

Aizawa just sighs and mutters, “I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” while you sling an arm over his shoulders and enjoy the chaos.

He gives you a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitches again. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

You step closer, tail swaying lazily. “Oh, I think we both know you’ll change your mind in an hour.”

He doesn’t answer, but when his hand brushes yours, you know you’ve won.

[applepiiex]

Just curious if you’d feel comfy writing more attack on titan 👀

Yes, of course!

Sorry for the delay in fics, I’m at a really busy internship so finding time to write is few and rare. With AOT, I haven’t seen it in a hot minute but a request does give me an excuse to get back into it!!

If it’s in my fandoms list, I’ll happily write it :)

[applepiiex]

can i request student top amab reader fvcking his professor nanami kento? they're fvck buddies during the night and normal student and teacher during the day. add rough sex if possible and kento is so submissive to his student but he cuddles him like a baby after s3x. sorry if my engish is bad haha i love how you write your fics

PRIVATE STUDY 𓍼ོ

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader - NSFW

Nanami teaches like he fucks: precise, composed, and barely holding back. At least, that's what most assume. But when office hours hit and the door locks behind you, that perfect professor falls apart fast. You're not supposed to touch him. You're definitely not supposed to bend him over his own desk and fuck him so hard he cries into a midterm. And yet... every Wednesday night, he’s waiting. Hands folded. Tie loosened. A/N: terms of cock and slut

──୨ৎ─────୨ৎ──────୨ৎ────

You shouldn’t get away with it.

The way you stare at him during lectures—lips parted, tongue barely touching the back of your teeth, legs spread under the desk like you own the damn place. And Nanami, poor thing, pretends he doesn’t notice. He adjusts his tie, clears his throat, and keeps teaching with that same perfect voice like he’s not imagining what you taste like.

You raise your hand to answer questions you already know the answers to, just to see his jaw flex.

You call him Kento once, on accident. You don’t apologize.

You show up to office hours late, alone, with a sheen of sweat on your throat and a smug grin that says, I know you’ll wait for me.

He always does.

“You’re pushing it,” Nanami mutters tonight as you close the door behind you and toss your bag to the floor.

“Oh?” You saunter toward him, slow and cocky. “I thought you liked being pushed, Professor.”

His gaze darkens. That jaw tightens. His hands are folded neatly on the desk, but his knuckles are white.

“I could fail you.” You laugh.

“Sure,” you say, leaning down so your mouth is right beside his ear. “But then who’s gonna rail you so hard you forget your own name?”

Nanami exhales like it hurts. Like it shames him how fast his body reacts. You haven’t even touched him yet and he’s already hard under those slacks, already shifting like he wants to grind against the desk.

You drag a hand down his chest, slow.

“I bet you’ve been thinking about it all day,” you whisper. “Me fucking you in this office. Face down right here. Desk shaking. You crying.”

Nanami makes a small, broken sound—just a whisper in his throat.

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say, pushing him into the chair. “That’s what I thought.”“On your knees,” you say softly.

Nanami obeys like it’s instinct. He’s already undoing his tie, shoving it into your hand like he wants to be leashed.

You push him gently down until he’s kneeling in front of the desk, knees hitting the floor with a quiet thud. He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, glasses slipping just a little down his nose.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” you murmur, undoing your belt. “You know that, Professor?”

His throat works around a swallow. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“You wanna make me feel good?”

He nods once. Then again, more frantically.

You slide your cock out—already half-hard just from watching him unravel—and rest the head against his lips.

“Go slow,” you murmur. “Worship it.”

And he does. Of course he does. He licks the tip like it’s communion, reverent and needy. His hands stay clasped behind his back while he sucks you in inch by inch, breathing through his nose like a good boy. His glasses fog. His cheeks flush. And when you tangle your fingers in his hair and gently guide him deeper, he whines like he’s grateful for the pressure.

“Shit,” you hiss, hips twitching forward. “You suck cock like you were made for it.”

He moans around you. And fuck—the vibration of it shoots straight up your spine.

You grip the desk for balance, one hand still cradling the back of his head as you start to fuck his throat—slow at first, but growing faster, rougher. Drool’s sliding down his chin, soaking the collar of his button-down. His tie dangles uselessly. He looks like sin.

“Kento,” you growl. “God, you’re gonna let me use your mouth right here in your office?”

He hums again, and it’s needy. His thighs shift like he’s trying to relieve some pressure, but you don’t let him move.

You pull him all the way in until he chokes, then drag him off, spit trailing between his lips and your cock.

“Say it,” you growl. “Tell me what you want.”

He’s panting now. Face red. Chest heaving.

“I want—” he gasps, hands trembling where they grip your thighs, “—want you to fuck me. Please. I need it. Need you.”

“You gonna take it like a good little professor?” you murmur, already hauling him up onto the desk by the tie.

“Yes, sir,” he breathes. “Please—need you to ruin me.”

Nanami’s begging. On his own desk. Face flushed, hair disheveled, spit-slick lips trembling from where he just had your cock halfway down his throat.

And it’d be so easy to fuck him right now, so easy, to bend him over and rail him until he’s drooling on the grading rubric.

But he hasn’t earned it yet.

So you sit down in his chair, his leather, his stupid throne, and tug him forward by the tie until he’s straddling your thigh.

“Let’s make this fair,” you murmur. “I got mine. Now let me watch you suffer.”

You angle his hips just right and slide your thigh between his legs, and the sound he makes—raw, needy—is almost embarrassing. You smirk and lean back.

“Go on,” you say. “Grind on me.”

He looks shocked. A little ashamed. But when you press your fingers into the small of his back and nudge, his body obeys before his brain does.

Nanami grinds.

Slow at first—testing, humiliated—but when the friction hits just right, he chokes on a gasp and clutches your shoulders.

“That’s it,” you whisper. “Rub your leaking little cock on me like the desperate slut you are.”

He whimpers, forehead dropping to your neck.

“Please,” he breathes. “Please—please, I can’t—”

“You can.” You grab his ass, guiding him faster. “You’re gonna cum like this. Just from humping me. You think your students would still respect you if they saw this?”

He keens, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. His cock is soaked, leaving a shameful wet patch on his slacks where he drags it against your thigh. He’s trembling—on the edge—so close—

And you stop.

“W-wait—” he gasps, but you lift him off your leg and spin him toward the desk.

“Turn around,” you say, voice low and dark.

He obeys on instinct.

You press him flat over the desk, pushing his shirt up to his waist, exposing the smooth curve of his ass. His cock slaps wetly against a graded midterm, leaving a sticky smear across someone’s A-. You tsk.

“Sloppy,” you say. “Maybe I’ll take your job after I flunk out.”

“Fuck—please, please just fuck me—” he’s babbling now, wrecked and needy. “I’ve been good, I’ve—god, I need it—”

You drag your cock along his hole, teasing. He arches his back, trying to push into you.

You slap his ass—hard.

“Who told you to move?”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“You’ll be sorry after I’m done.”

You push in slow. Inch by inch. His body clenches, fighting to take you. But he wants it. He’s drooling on the desk by the time you’re fully seated inside him, whimpering into his own goddamn syllabus.

And then?

You fuck him.

Hard.

Relentless.

Every thrust punches a sound out of him—short, gasping cries that sound like they belong in a different kind of classroom.

The desk is shaking. Papers are falling. His glasses have flown off at this point. He’s bent over like a lesson in anatomy, taking your cock to the hilt with every filthy slap of skin against skin.

“You’re mine,” you growl. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

“Yes,” he sobs. “Yes—yours—only yours—”

He comes first. Again. Shamefully fast, untouched, spilling all over the mess of his own desk. And you’re not far behind—gripping his hips, burying yourself deep, groaning his name into the back of his neck as you fill him. Nanami’s still trembling when you collapse on top of him, bodies sticky, your breath ghosting along the curve of his shoulder.

He holds you anyway. Wraps one arm around your back and the other around your head, cradling you like something breakable. Like he didn’t just come all over a stack of his own students’ essays.

“Breathe,” he murmurs softly. “Nice and slow.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck and just… listen. To his heartbeat. To the faint ticking of the office wall clock. To the way his breath stutters as he starts to come down.

“I didn’t mean to come so fast,” he murmurs, voice raw and low.

You grin against his skin. “Kinda hot that you did, though.”

He huffs a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still leaking onto your midterms. Who’s the real problem here?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just holds you tighter. One hand strokes your back absently, fingertips gliding up your spine like he’s mapping it from memory.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he says quietly.

And you pause. Because there’s something heavy behind that. Not regret, but… weight.

“Kento,” you whisper. “You okay?”

He hums like he’s not sure. His hand stills.

“I used to think I knew what I was doing,” he murmurs. “That this job was enough. That I could stay distant. Clinical. Separate.”

You blink. You shift a little, enough to look up at him.

“But now,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face, “you walk into my class with that stupid grin and your messy notes and your ridiculous, infuriating mouth, and I find myself… waiting for you.”

“…To sit down?”

“To ruin me.”

You snort, and he finally smiles—a real one this time, tired and affectionate.

“I mean it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what this is between us. But you make me feel—alive. Terrified. Completely undone.”

“…You’re so dramatic,” you murmur, cheeks a little warm.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “And you’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are,” he says, dragging the back of his knuckles gently down your cheek. “God, I let you spit in my mouth and now you’re acting shy.”

You swat at him, laughing. “You begged me to.”

“I did,” he admits, unapologetic. “And I’ll do it again.”

There’s a pause.

Then, softer: “Stay a while?”

You don’t even hesitate. You settle deeper against his chest, draping your arms around his waist like it’s your job.

“Only if you cuddle me like a baby.”

He hums. “That can be arranged.”

You lie there for a long while. Breathing together. Listening to the hallway go quiet as the campus empties for the night.

Later, he’ll help you clean up the desk. He’ll press a bottle of water into your hand and mutter something about “electrolytes,” even though he’s the one who came twice. He’ll kiss you by the door—soft, slow, like a secret.

But for now, it’s just you and him. Wrapped up in something filthy and warm and maybe real.

Maybe too real.

You don’t dare say it.

But you feel it, pressed to your skin like heat.

The next morning, the classroom is quiet. Clean. Predictable.

Chairs scraped back into place. Board erased. Lights humming overhead like nothing happened the night before. Like he didn’t choke on your cock or call you sir or cry when you fucked him.

Nanami stands at the front of the room, dressed in his usual button-up and blazer. Tie perfect. Hair back in place. Glasses spotless. He’s already writing something on the whiteboard when students start trickling in.

You stroll in a few minutes before class starts.

Your hair’s still damp from a quick shower. Your eyes land on him for exactly one second too long before you slide into your seat near the middle—same as always.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“Morning, Professor,” you say, perfectly casual.

Nanami adjusts his tie. Doesn’t look at you. “Morning.”

No heat. No warmth. No trace of the way his voice cracked last night when he begged you to fill him.

To the rest of the class, it’s nothing. Normal. Professional.

But you?

You see it.

The way his jaw tenses just slightly when you suck on the tip of your pen. The flick of his eyes toward your legs when you stretch them out under the desk. The briefest pause in his lecture when your tongue wets your bottom lip.

He recovers instantly. Doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t show a thing.

And when he dismisses class, his voice is crisp as ever:

“Read chapters six and seven. Be prepared to discuss the case studies on Monday.”

Everyone gathers their bags. Papers shuffle. A few students try to ask him questions at the podium.

You walk right past him, eyes forward, lips curled in the faintest smirk.

You don’t say a word.

But as you pass, just before the door closes behind you, he murmurs—quiet enough only you can hear:

“Office hours. Wednesday. Same time.”

You don’t look back. But you nod. Because of course you’ll be there.

[applepiiex]

nanami x ftm reader pre op please. . . i need comfort i crave it. reader feels dysmorphic and nanami comforts them pleaseee

ALL OF YOU ! ! ! ♡ˎˊ˗

Nanami Kento x FTM!Reader

You catch your reflection by accident, and suddenly everything spirals. The dysphoria hits hard, loud and cruel—like it always does. You're not flat enough, not sharp enough, not man enough. So you hide under your hoodie. Curl up on the bed. Try to disappear. But Nanami sees you anyway. He always does. With quiet hands and steady words, he reminds you that your body does not make you a man—you do. And he’ll hold you through the worst of it, no matter how long it takes.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆

It starts in the mirror.

You’d had a good day. Or at least you thought you had. But then the hoodie comes off.

The binder’s already been peeled away. Your skin’s red from compression, your chest feels too loud, too visible. You catch your reflection by accident and— That’s all it takes.

The spiral’s quick. Familiar. Ugly.

Your brain starts whispering lies in your own voice.

Too soft. Not flat enough. Not right. Not a man.

You throw on a shirt, then another, then a sweater. It doesn’t help. By the time Nanami gets home, you’re curled up on the bed under the blanket, hood pulled up, fists tucked under your chin. You haven’t said a word.

He notices immediately. He always does.

“Darling?” he says gently, setting down his keys. “Bad day?”

You don’t answer. You don’t want to lie—but you can’t say it out loud either. You expect him to ask more questions. He doesn’t.

Instead, he sits beside you. Not too close, not crowding you. Just there.

Present.

“I ran into that bookstore clerk again,” he says softly, like nothing’s wrong. “The one who always calls me ‘sir’ like he’s nervous I’ll turn him into a toad.”

You snort. Just a little. Nanami catches it.

He keeps going.

“Said he liked my tie. I told him you picked it. That made him more nervous.”

Your chest shakes a little.

He turns toward you slowly.

And then, gently, he asks, “Can I see you?”

You flinch. Just barely. Your head shakes no.

“Okay,” he says easily. No pressure. No hurt. “Then can I just be with you like this?”

You nod.

Silence stretches again. Comfortable this time. Eventually, your voice comes out, small.

“I feel gross.”

Nanami frowns.

“Not gross,” you correct, “just… wrong. Like I’m not right in my skin. Like I’m pretending.”

Nanami doesn’t rush to fix it. Doesn’t argue. He listens. Then he says, “You are not pretending.”

You swallow.

“You are real,” he says, softer. “You are mine. And you are a man.” He shifts closer. “The way you laugh. The way you care. The way you take up space in this world like you deserve to. None of that is a lie.”

His hand moves to yours, but he doesn’t grip—he waits. You lace your fingers through his. Your voice cracks.

“But what if I hate how I look?”

“Then we’ll work with that,” he says. “However long it takes. However you need. But your body doesn’t make you a man. You do.”

Tears burn behind your eyes.

“I want to feel like me again.” Your voice cracks in the middle of it. You sound small. Raw.

Nanami doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. His thumb smooths over the back of your knuckles, steady and slow, like he’s mapping the shape of your hands all over again.

“You will,” he says softly. “I promise you will.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t know how. Some days I just… I don’t know where I went. Like I’m trapped under someone else's skin. Like no matter what I do, he doesn’t show up in the mirror.”

Nanami breathes in through his nose, quiet and even. You know that sound—he’s grounding himself, too.

He shifts onto the bed, kicks off his shoes, and sits beside you fully this time, his thigh warm against yours under the blanket.

And he says, “Then let’s find him. Together.”

You let out a short breath. “That’s not how it works.”

He tilts his head, mouth twitching just slightly—not a smirk, not quite a smile. “Isn’t it?”

You glance over at him.

“You think you have to do this alone. You never do,” he murmurs. “I know dysphoria lies to you. I know it makes your body feel like a stranger. But it’s your body. It’s always been yours. It does not define you. It just carries you.”

Your throat tightens.

Nanami’s eyes flick toward your chest for half a second—not lingering, never—just acknowledging. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the way you’re clutching the hoodie tighter like it might erase you.

So he asks again, gentler this time:

“May I see you?”

You hesitate. Your hands shake when they move.

You pull the hoodie up over your head in one motion and drop it beside you, then sit there in the old t-shirt you never let anyone else see you in—except him.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But Nanami sees everything.

The flushed red where your binder used to be. The curve of your chest that makes your stomach twist. The way your body holds itself—defensive, ashamed.

He breathes in once. Not shocked. Not repulsed.

Just present.

He cups your jaw with one hand and turns your face gently toward him.

“There you are,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like you hadn’t just crumbled in front of him. “There’s my man.”

You blink.

The tears hit fast. Hot. You bite your lip to stop them but it doesn’t work. It never works with him.

“Nanami—”

“You don’t have to be flat to be real,” he whispers. “You don’t have to change to deserve respect. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know exactly who you are.”

He brings your forehead to his, noses brushing.

“I see the man who holds my hand when I’m overwhelmed. The man who sings terribly in the car. The man who kissed me for the first time like he meant it.”

Your shoulders start to shake.

He wraps his arms around you fully this time.

“You don’t owe me passing. You don’t owe the world that. You are a man because you are. Because you say so. And I love all of you. Right here. Right now.”

You break.

The tears fall.

But you don’t fall alone.

Nanami holds you tighter. One hand runs up and down your back while the other cradles your head, thumb brushing your nape.

“You are enough,” he murmurs. “You are mine. And there’s nothing in this world I would change about you.”

You don’t say anything back. You just bury yourself in him.

You sit like that for a long time—his shirt against your face, your breathing syncing to his.

Eventually, his voice breaks the silence again. Gentle. Reassuring.

“Do you want to wear something more comfortable? We can lay down.”

You nod.

He pulls away just long enough to fetch one of his old oversized button-downs—the one you once called “the hot professor shirt.”

He helps you change into it, careful and slow, never letting your skin feel too bare for too long. He doesn’t stare. But he looks. With care. With love. With the kind of reverence that tells you he’s not looking past you—he’s seeing you.

When you finally lie down together, you’re in his arms, face against his chest, his fingers carding gently through your hair.

And for the first time all day—

You feel like yourself again.

[applepiiex]

Hey, would you write about a "heavier" topic? How would Nanami or/and Toji react to a boyfriend with an obsessive ex? Reader not wanting to tell them but eventually they end up finding out through an surprise of the ex

I've been listening to "She" by Tyler, The Creator's too much, lol

THROUGH THE WINDOW ! ! ! ⌖

Nanami Kento & Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

It started with messages. You thought they were harmless at first, just the bitter cling of a past relationship that hadn’t ended the way either of you pretended it did. A few texts. A photo or two. You could handle it. But then the messages got darker. From gross to graphic. You didn’t want to tell Nanami and Toji. Didn’t want to ruin the calm you’d built between them. But you forgot who you were dating. Because Nanami reads death threats like case files. And Toji? Toji doesn’t believe in second warnings. You’re not alone anymore. You never have to be again.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You tell yourself you don’t need to tell him. Nanami’s already got too much on his shoulders; the long hours at the office, the missions, the headaches that crack behind his temples when he comes home late and peels off his tie at your door. Besides, it’s nothing, you think. Just annoying messages. Weird, clingy apologies at first, then the sudden switches to anger when you don’t answer. The calls you block, the fake accounts you mute. You’ve handled worse. It’ll fade if you keep ignoring it.

And yet you flinch every time your phone buzzes when Nanami’s in the room. You smile too quick when he asks, everything alright? You lie too easily: Just a classmate, just a spam text, just work.

Nanami doesn’t press. He trusts you. It’s the kind of trust that makes your throat ache because you know what it costs him to let people close.

So you think you’re safe. Right up until you’re not.

You feel it before you read it.

That telltale buzz in your back pocket. Your phone lighting up just once, screen turned conveniently down. You ignore it for a few seconds. Long enough to finish rinsing your mug. Long enough to convince yourself it’s Nanami with a grocery list or Toji reminding you to eat.

But you know better.

It’s always at the worst times. Like this morning, when Nanami pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured “Text me when you get home, alright?”—voice low, warm, careful like always—and your phone had gone off before the front door even closed behind him.

Or last night, when you’d fallen asleep on Toji’s chest, safe and full and warm, and woke to find a single notification glowing in the dark.

You still think they’re better for you?

You hadn’t told them.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Hey, remember that guy I dated before I met you? The one I said ended things clean? He didn’t. He didn’t end it at all.

You delete the new message without reading it. Not because you don’t care. Because you do. And caring feels like giving it weight, and you don’t want it to matter.

You don’t want this ugly, sharp-edged part of your past to bleed into the home you built with them. Not these quiet mornings, the soft sound of Nanami’s keys in the dish, Toji’s god-awful slippers, the coffee they make just the way you like it. The life they gave you.

So you tell yourself it’s fine.

Just another message. Just another weird sentence from someone who doesn’t matter anymore.

You go to your texts with Nanami and send a little heart.

You check your location settings twice, make sure they can see you.

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret—not really. But between Nanami’s long hours and Toji’s sharp instincts, you’d started keeping things closer to your chest. What were a few strange texts? A shadow outside your building? The growing knot of unease in your gut?

You could handle it. You had to.

Until today.

Until the knock on the door—too slow, too familiar.

Until Toji answered it before you could lie your way to the handle.

Until Nanami’s voice behind you, calm and clear: “Who is that, darling?”

And then—

Then it all unraveled.

Your ex. The obsession. The way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But what scared you more was the way Toji went silent. Not loud. Quiet. Like a man calculating how many bones were in a body and how many he could break before someone stopped him.

And Nanami, stepping between you and the door like instinct, like religion.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You never had to be again.

You step into the living room, smile like everything’s fine—and freeze.

Toji’s already looking at you from the couch. Eyes narrow. Mouth tight. One look and you know:

He heard your phone buzz. And he saw your face fall.

Nanami doesn’t ask right away.

He’s always been the quieter kind of observant—unlike Toji, who will ask “What the hell’s wrong with you?” at the first twitch of an eyebrow, Nanami will wait. Will watch.

And you think you’re doing a good job hiding it.

But Nanami notices when you start showering with the door locked. He notices when you jump at the microwave beeping. When you stop putting your phone screen-up on the table.

It’s small things.

He never says a word when he catches you rereading the same page for five minutes. But he shifts closer on the couch. Puts a hand on your knee. Anchors you to now.

He doesn’t push.

But he watches.

And when your voice starts trembling over simple things—When’s dinner? Can I borrow your charger?—he starts reading between lines you don’t even realize you’re drawing.

The real break comes two days later.

You’re home alone, just barely. Toji’s out with groceries, Nanami’s walking back from the train. You’d just finished putting away laundry, your body warm from movement, hair damp from the shower.

You check your phone.

One message. Unknown number.

No words. Just a photo.

You stare at it.

It’s you.

In your bedroom.

Alone. Unaware. Half-naked, head tilted back, mouth parted. A still from a moment no one else should have seen.

Your heart drops through the floor. The air thins.

Your mouth moves like you’re about to scream—but you don’t.

You can’t.

The floor creaks behind you.

And before you can hide it, before you can delete anything or swallow the panic down—

“Love?”

Nanami’s voice. Calm. Steady.

But when he sees your face, when he sees your hand shaking around the phone— His briefcase hits the floor. He crosses the room in two strides and doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He just takes your phone.

You try to stop him. Your voice cracks. You say “Don’t—please, it’s nothing—”

But Nanami’s face goes still.

Blank.

Not like he’s unreadable, like he’s unforgiving.

Like something in him has gone very, very cold.

Toji’s keys jingle in the door.

And you suddenly realize, It’s not just your ex that’s going to regret this.

Toji walks in holding a paper bag in one hand and a soda tucked under his arm. His keys hit the little dish by the door with a lazy clink, and he’s already saying something—

“Hey, you’d better still be hungry, I grabbed those—” He stops.

Nanami’s standing stock still in the middle of the room, back to the door. You’re on the couch, half-curled into yourself like you’re trying to take up less space. Your phone is in Nanami’s hand. He hasn’t moved since he picked it up. He hasn’t blinked.

Toji’s eyes shift to you. He sees it instantly, your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling hands, the way your shoulders rise too high, like you’re bracing for something.

He drops the soda.

The bottle bounces. The fizz spills out into the carpet. He doesn’t look down.

“Ken,” he says, quiet. Sharp. “What happened.”

Nanami doesn’t answer right away.

Just lifts the phone and turns it. Shows him the screen.

Toji steps closer. Looks.

And stops breathing for a second.

He’s seen worse. He’s done worse. But this—this is personal. This is violating. This is someone thinking they could get away with hurting something that belongs to him. To both of them.

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t storm.

He hands the phone back to Nanami with surgical precision.

Then he kneels in front of you. Slowly.

And says, soft as a whisper, “Baby. When did they start doing this?”

You want to lie. You almost do.

But the look in his eyes—steady, unreadable, terrifying only in how unshaken it is—undoes you.

You whisper, “A few weeks ago.”

Toji closes his eyes for a moment. Breathing in through his nose like he’s tasting the words.

Then—

“Okay,” he says. And stands.

Nanami is already checking the locks. Calm. Clinical. His jaw is tight but his hands are steady.

Toji? Toji just rolls his shoulders back. Cracks his neck.

And smiles.

Not the kind of smile that ever touches his eyes.

The kind that says, “Let me show you what happens when you scare someone I love.”

You’ve been in the shower for fifteen minutes.

The water’s long gone warm. You’re sitting on the floor, forehead pressed to your knees, steam curling around your ears like it might muffle everything.

You can still feel it. That photo—that invasion—burning under your skin like acid.

You don’t hear Toji’s boots stop just outside the door. Or the way Nanami lowers his voice to meet him.

In the kitchen, Toji’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed tight. Nanami sets the phone down between them.

It's still open.

Neither of them flinch at the image now.

“He must’ve hacked the camera,” Nanami says, calmly. “Or snuck in. Possibly both.”

Toji’s jaw ticks.

“You think he was in the apartment?”

Nanami nods once.

“There's no other way. This photo—look at the angle. It's from the corner shelf. Right where that old diffuser is.”

Toji’s voice is low, feral.

“That shelf's barely six feet from the bed.”

Nanami exhales through his nose, slowly. Controlled.

“I’ll check the locks again. Hidden cameras, too. You talk to your guy?”

“Not yet,” Toji says, already pulling out his burner phone. “He’ll know how to scrub the photo. Trace the IP. Get me a name.”

“You think you don’t already know who it is?”

Toji lifts his head.

The look they exchange is brief.

It says everything.

Nanami smooths down the sleeve of his shirt, then begins opening drawers with clinical care—pulling out the backup phone, the flash drive, the old tucked-away folder of documents they never wanted to need again.

Toji watches the hallway.

“Don’t think he’s just watching him,” he mutters. “This ain’t about obsession anymore.”

Nanami meets his eyes.

“I know.”

“I’m gonna kill this guy,” Toji says flatly.

“No,” Nanami replies, eyes cool. “We’re going to stop him. And then we’re going to make sure Y/N  never has to feel unsafe in his own fucking bed again.”

They fall silent for a beat.

The shower is still running.

Toji looks toward the door, and his voice softens.

“He’s scared out of his goddamn mind, Kento.”

“I know,” Nanami says. “That’s why we get this done quietly. Clean. For him.”

Toji’s shoulders drop a little.

“I’ll call in a favor. See if someone can keep eyes on the building.”

Nanami nods.

“Then tomorrow, we start tracking this man down.”

They move like a unit—silent, practiced. Not angry. Not panicking. Deadly calm. Because the one thing more dangerous than either of them… Is both of them. Protecting you.

You towel your hair slowly. Mechanically.

Your skin’s gone cold despite the hot water. Everything feels like it’s happening to you, not with you. Like your body’s just going through the motions while your brain hides somewhere in the walls.

But the water’s off. The towel’s wrapped. And you can’t stay in there forever.

So you open the bathroom door. Steam rolls out behind you. The apartment is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Nanami is standing by the window. His arms are folded across his chest, sleeves pushed up, gold watch catching the lamplight. He’s staring out into the street below, but you can feel he’s not really looking.

Toji’s at the kitchen island, phone face-down, hands flat on the counter like he’s holding himself in place.

Both of them turn when you walk in. And everything about the way they look at you makes your breath catch. Not angry. Not judgmental. Just—

Worried.

Focused.

Like you’re the only thing in the world they’re trying to protect.

Toji’s the first to move. He walks toward you slow, deliberate. His eyes flick down your body, and for once it’s not a heated look—he’s scanning. Checking. Making sure you’re unharmed.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but it sticks in your throat. Then Toji reaches out. One hand on your cheek, warm and grounding. The other rests at your hip, gentle.

“You alright, baby?” he asks.

Your mouth trembles. You nod. But Nanami sees the lie.

“Come here,” he says softly, from across the room.

You go. You can’t not. Nanami’s arms pull you in, towel and all. He wraps you up like something fragile, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, hand smoothing up and down your back.

“We’re handling it,” he murmurs into your ear. “He won’t get near you again.” You exhale shakily.

Toji steps in behind, wrapping himself around both of you. His hand settles on your waist, anchoring. Protective. You’re surrounded. Sandwiched between warmth and muscle and quiet fury.

And for the first time all day—

You feel safe. But still, something breaks in you. Just a little.

The apartment is still too quiet. Toji’s sitting beside you, his arm draped across your shoulders like a shield. Nanami’s across from you at the table, a mug of tea untouched in front of him, jaw set tight.

You’re holding your phone like it’s a live wire. Your thumb hovers over the app. You’ve deleted some of the messages before—shaky hands, shame, panic. But not all of them. You couldn’t. Some were too vile, too specific. You needed proof. You just didn’t want to read them again.

But now...

Toji nudges you gently with his knee.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “Just show us.”

You nod. Your hand shakes as you unlock it.

The first message is dated weeks back.

You looked good today. They don’t deserve you. I saw your new shirt. Tight. You knew I’d like that. You know this isn’t over, right?

Toji reads with clenched fists. Silent. Nanami leans in, scrolling. His brow furrows deeper with every line.

Then comes the message from yesterday.

The one you couldn’t delete.

It’s not just a message.

It’s a poem. Or a manifesto.

Or a threat.

Nanami reads aloud, voice low, steady, terrifyingly neutral.

“One, two, you're the guy that I want Three, four, five, six, seven, shit Eight is the bullets if you say no after all this…”

His voice falters. Your throat closes. You swallow down nausea. Toji is dead silent beside you.

“And I just couldn't take it, you're so motherfuckin' gorgeous Gorgeous, baby, you're gorgeous I just wanna drag your lifeless body to the forest And fornicate with it…”

Nanami stops reading. The silence that follows is suffocating.

Then Toji stands. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Give me the name,” he says, voice low and steady. “Now.”

You look up at him. Your mouth opens, but no words come. You feel exposed. Raw. Like you’ve just ripped the bandage off and they’re both staring at the wound underneath. The part of you that you never wanted them to see.

Nanami stands too. He’s moved behind Toji now, hand on his back like an anchor. “You did the right thing,” Nanami says, softly. “Showing us.”

“I didn’t want you to think—” Your voice breaks. “I just—he always talked like that. I didn’t think he’d ever do anything. It was just words. Just—”

Toji turns to you, his eyes burning. “They’re not just words.”

He crouches in front of you again, and this time he takes your hand, presses your palm flat to his chest.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s what you mean to me. Right here. You think I’m gonna let some little freak who jerks off to your old Instagram stories put you in danger?”

His voice is steel, but his thumb rubs gently against your knuckles. Nanami’s next to you now too. Calm. Quiet. Controlled rage simmering just beneath his gaze.

“I want you to forward everything to my email,” he says. “All the texts. All the photos. I’ll begin the documentation tonight. This kind of language qualifies as criminal threat.”

You blink at him.

“You’re—You’re going legal with this?”

“I’m going through with this.” Nanami leans down, kisses your cheek.

“Because this isn’t just harassment anymore. This is violence.”

Toji’s already on his phone, dialing. You hear him mutter, “Yeah. Need you to trace something. It’s urgent. Nah, not for work—personal.”

You sit between them, eyes wide, breath uneven.

And for the first time in weeks... It’s not your weight to carry anymore. It’s theirs now.

“I didn’t want to ruin things,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to bring him into this. Into us.”

Toji’s arms tighten.

Nanami presses his mouth to your temple.

“Nothing you could do,” Nanami says, “nothing—could ruin this.”

“Except not telling us,” Toji adds, but it’s not angry—it’s wounded. He turns your face gently with two fingers. “Don’t shut us out. We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod. But your eyes brim anyway. Nanami pulls you to the couch. Toji grabs your favorite blanket. The one you always hog. And between the two of them, you let yourself fall apart a little. And they catch you.