internet's darling ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

24 / Korean / "it's barbie and ken(to!)"

[barbieandkento]

𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ call me barbie

24 .☘︎ ݁˖ Korean .☘︎ ݁˖ nanami enthusiast

current theme: you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love

est. july 13th 2025

masterlist ❤︎ about me (coming soon!) ❤︎ ask me ❤︎ fic recs

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 requesting guidelines 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

requests: CLOSED

[barbieandkento]

sneak peek into the fbi section chief!nanami fic i've been teasing,,,

he's so hotch coded im obsessed

it's gonna be a multi part enemies to lovers, boss-employee, criminal minds inspired series, atm about 60-66% done?!

[barbieandkento]

FINALLY managed to get back onto writing this today after being distracted with oneshots and other wips,,,, i'd say i'm about 85% done now!

[barbieandkento]

95% done,,, though I'm gonna have to go through everything and proof read after that xD but I'M SEEING THE ENDING YK AND THE FINAL MOMENTS OF THE STORY AFTER 2 MONTHS OF WORKING ON THIS

[barbieandkento]

☆ put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. it’s time to spread positivity !

omg this is so sweet! tysm (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[barbieandkento]

new nmixx cb 5/11 we are SO UP

I'M SOOO FUCKING LATE TO THIS KRYS IM SO SORRY BABY T_T

but YESSS omg heavy serenade is the cb of the year (!!!) and they just got their first win on a music show today! i'm so happy for them. i missed this kind of romantic, sad nostalgic song and the fact that the chorus is majority korean is just,,, unheard of these days. i am so happy with this cb and wishing them as much success as blue valentine!

what are your fave songs on the ep? mine are IDESERVEIT, loud, and crescendo (since we're not counting heavy serenade haha).

[barbieandkento]

hi pookie!

i actually submitted an ask so that you’d get a bouquet from the bouquets for jjk like ages go but idk if you received any 😭

anyways good luck!! i’m also in finals seasons 😠 grr

HAVE FUN TRAVELLING AND I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING U BACK HEHE

love, 🐡🐡

hi 🐡 nonnie!

omg my travels were FABBBB I was in Poland and Estonia, both countries which were really beautiful, clean and peaceful. Polish people in particular were friendly and very accepting, and I had pierogi (traditional dumplings) like every day haha. It also means I am done with my lawyer qualification exams now (though I have other courses to complete outside of it ugh).

idk if i remember getting a bouquet ask but regardless, thank you so much! i've started rewriting fics in my drafts again, and it is nonnies like you who make me wanna keep going (o゜▽゜)o☆

hope your finals went well!

barbie xoxo

[barbieandkento]

guys guys im alive and miss you all so much ☀️❤️ I'll be done with my lawyer qualification exams in a few days then traveling for a bit but gonna have a MUCH clearer schedule when I return like from mid May!!!

looking forward to posting more then,,, i feel bad I basically stopped writing for a few months str8 but I've been so overwhelmed with life 😅

okay leaving yall with a hot gif of nanami bc why not ❤️❤️❤️ (it's giving the boss!nanami fic sitting in my drafts hehe)

[honeyyymmoon]

OLIVIA RODRIGO drop dead 2026, dir. Petra Collins

[hunnismokah]

nanami mhm mhm yeah yes mhm mhm

[barbieandkento]

hello new theme (based off of Olivia's new upcoming album!!!)

[sukundere-deactivated20260422]

ARE WE EVER REALLY ALONE ?

pale visitor!sukuna x survivor!reader 'no, i'm not a human' AU

part 1 ⇢ part 2 ⇢ part 3

SYNOPSIS: Stay inside. Lock your doors. Close your blinds. Only let humans in and eliminate all visitors. When the apocalypse happened, the rules seemed simple- but as the nights tick by, you find yourself scrambling to survive. And every time you turn him away, you're left questioning how much you really know about yourself and this new world.

WARNINGS: dead dove- post-apocalyptic au, dual pov, descriptions of death & violence, blood, guns, unreliable narrator, somewhat follows the gameplay/dialogue of no, i'm not a human, strong language, extreme guilt/shame, emotional conflict, emotional manipulation, depression, anxiety & paranoia, strangers/enemies to lovers, eventual smut -> dub-con, true-form sukuna; more tags to be added

A/N: art creds @/decay_int on insta & x, other images from NINAH gameplay.

There was no light wherever he was. But fuck, it was so hot.

Sukuna didn't even know if the sun had risen or not. In fact, he wasn't even sure how much time had passed since he'd passed out in the dirt.

For all he knew, he could've been dead.

Though if he had actually died, then why was he hurting so much?

There was a sheen of sweat spread across Sukuna's feverish body, partially due to the temperature around him, but also because of the searing aches in his ribs. It was a blinding, white pain that spread out from each side of his torso and he didn't dare touch the area.

His eyes were useless in his state, shrouded in darkness, and yet he willed himself to move. His legs were weak, in fact, his entire being was exhausted as his palms pressed into the ground. Straining slightly, Sukuna lifted himself and he rose cautiously to his feet.

It took a bit of exploring, time spent wandering through the darkness, to orient himself. Sukuna didn't think he was inside a building or a home, but he couldn't see the sky so he was definitely not somewhere out in the open. The ground was dirt, packed firm but dusted with a dry top layer that coated his skin. And the walls felt like rock, jagged and cool to the touch, a contrast to the rest of the space.

A cave?

It seemed like the most likely option. The issue was, even if that was true, he still had no idea how he got there. Perhaps that thing he'd seen had brought him there? But if so, why? Obviously he was still alive, so he figured it was possible someone else brought him there. But again— why?

And why didn't that thing kill him?

A million questions raced through Sukuna's mind, the chaos bringing with it a dull ache that left his head pounding. There were too many unknowns.

Sucking in a breath, Sukuna's hands flew to his pockets. His phone. Patting frantically, he searched for his belongings but came up empty, pulling a low groan from the man. His situation just kept getting worse.

But he needed to move— to leave. He needed to get outside if he was going to have any chance at finding out where he might be.

And that felt like it took another hour at least. Another hour or more of stumbling around aimlessly, using his hands on the walls to guide him as his eyes fruitlessly tried to adjust to the darkness. And then he saw it.

One small area that looked just a tad lighter than everything else he'd seen. One space where he could make out the ridges of the rocks around him and the outlines of his hands.

So Sukuna followed his sight. He took whatever direction allowed him to see more than before, until stars finally began to speckle in the black expanse of the sky above him. A crescent moon hung high, casting a soft glow across the landscape before him.

It shouldn't have been that bright. So far from being full, the moon was a tiny sliver of silver that illuminated more than Sukuna believed possible. And yet, he could see. He could see enough to follow a small footpath, one weary step after another.

Really, Sukuna didn't know where it lead.

Sukuna didn't know where he was going to end up before the sun rose once more, but for some reason he felt certain it would be the right place. Call it a gut feeling.

His mind strayed from thoughts of his journey, drifting back to reflect again on recent events. Were they even that recent? There was no way to know how much time had passed before he woke up again. In all honesty, he didn't quite remember the events from before. Sukuna tried to focus, to recall images in his mind but each one looked as though it was recorded on an old film camera. Too grainy, the picture appeared smudged, the lighting too bright or too dark to make out much more than his own feet.

"Fuck—" Sukuna cursed under his breath, a hand coming up to clutch his head. A sharp sting seared through his temple before settling between his eyes.

But it wasn't nearly as painful as his ribs. The sudden movement of his arm felt as though he split open a wound, tearing through nonexistent stitches along his sides. He couldn't explain it. Unless there were bones broken beneath his skin that he was unaware of, Sukuna couldn't understand where the sensation was coming from. He'd have to take a look at the area whenever he found a place to stay.

No more than an hour later, he saw a small home. It was set aside from a few others, nestled near the edge of the forest, a burnt field lying between the residence and its neighbors. That's where he needed to go.

Sukuna could see the shimmer of the lights that were on inside shining through the thin fabric curtains covering the windows. He figured it must've been hot in there, but still, it was better than being burned alive.

As he got closer, muffled voices found their ways into his ears. There were at least two people in the home, hushed whispers and comforting words being offered to one another. Each guest unaware that one more was eavesdropping, preparing to join their group.

It didn't even occur to Sukuna that it was odd— the fact that he could make out the contents of the conversations happening inside. Even as he listened through the solid wood of the front door, he could tell that there was a familiar voice. One he hadn't heard since before the cataclysm, one he'd been hoping to hear again.

Before he could question it, he was knocking, knuckles rapping against the door five times. And then he waited.

"Hello?"

Hello.

Not 'what do you want'. Not 'what are you doing here'. A simple greeting, and for some reason it felt rare.

"Hi," Sukuna cleared his throat, "Was lookin' for somewhere to stay for a bit. Stumbled across your home, here."

"I see." It sounded like a man on the other side of the door. His voice deep, gruff, but there was a gentle air to it, understanding laced into his words. "Where were you before?"

The question gave Sukuna pause. He weighed his options as he thought about how to respond, debating what he should reveal or not. Ultimately, he decided to keep his answer as simple as possible.

"The city. But FEMA kicked us outta our homes."

"Ah, I've been hearin' about that. You been traveling with anyone else?"

Sukuna could feel his eye twitch. Hadn't he answered enough questions? He was fucking tired— tired from walking, tired from going through whatever it was he went through, tired of hurting. Inhaling deeply, he fought to fend off his irritation, trying to remind himself that the man was just taking precautions.

"I've been alone."

Silence.

And then he heard the sound of metal sliding against metal as the homeowner released lock after lock on the door. He must have installed more after the news about the visitors. Sukuna supposed that it wasn't a bad idea, though if that was the case then why did it bother him?

The door swung open to reveal a shorter man, dressed in a denim jacket with bags under his eyes.

"Come in, you can pick any room you'd like to hole up in. I hope you don't mind, but I'll have to test you eventually."

Sukuna stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the home in one long stride. His eyes scanned the interior. It was quaint. Not so old that the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, but old enough that the paint on the walls was dull in color, worn down over the years. There were a couple pictures hanging up, evidence of a life before the apocalypse.

Finally, Sukuna's eyes settled again on the man in front of him. His expression was neutral, revealing little more than the fact that he was seemingly unimpressed by Sukuna's appearance.

"Test me?"

"For signs of being a visitor," the man clarified.

And how was he supposed to pass that? What kinds of signs would they even be looking for? Sukuna supposed that if he knew, he might be able to try and prepare a bit, perhaps even seek out one of the other guests to try and get some information.

No, it was okay. Sukuna shook his head lightly, trying to ignore the throbbing that returned to his forehead, likely a result of his endless train of thought and the ridiculously bright overhead light. He was going to pass the tests, because it wouldn't make sense that he'd show signs of being a visitor.

"That's fine," Sukuna answered curtly, ready to be done with the conversation.

Pushing past the man, he walked slowly, ears tuned in to try and listen through each door he passed by. Sukuna wanted to make sure that whatever room he chose to stay in, there was another person there.

Too quiet.

Too quiet.

There.

He could hear the sound of someone shuffling around on the other side of the wooden barrier. His hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob, twisting it slowly until he was able to push open the door with a soft creak.

The sight waiting for Sukuna made him freeze, standing in the middle of the doorway with baited breath as he met a set of piercing blue eyes.

"Holy shit," Satoru breathed, a hand pushing his hair back as he stood up from his place on the couch. "Holy shit."

Sukuna didn't move, just stayed stock-still with his mouth hanging agape as Satoru rushed towards him. He was embraced tightly, his friend wrapping two arms around his torso with a force he hadn't quite known Satoru possessed. It left a burning sensation spreading out from his sides, sharp enough that it took everything in Sukuna not to shove the man off of him.

"Where have you been?" Satoru asked, his voice breathless with disbelief. "And how did you get here? What happened to Choso and Yuji? Have you seen them?"

It was too much at once. Too many questions being hurled at Sukuna and he wasn't even sure how well he could answer them. The pitch of Satoru's voice left him cringing, reclining slightly to create a small space between them. Whatever sense of relief, excitement, comfort that Sukuna received from this reunion was fading quickly, being replaced with a piercing ache between his eyes and a ringing in his ears.

Everything was just so loud. So light.

"You good man?"

Satoru's eyebrows were drawn together in concern, his eyes sweeping over Sukuna's figure which was hunched over ever so slightly, curling in on itself.

"Yeah," Sukuna grunted, a hand coming up to swipe at his forehead which had begun to bead with sweat. "Just tired. Been walkin' all night."

"Ah okay, that makes sense. We can chill here at least." Satoru's gaze wandered over Sukuna once more, brows pinching even further together. Sukuna's stomach twisted, irritation seeping in at the look Satoru was giving him— Worry? Condescension? Disgust? "You're not looking too good, you wanna take a shower or something? I bet the old man would let you."

What was Satoru expecting him to look like after going through what he did? Went to fucking hell and back for all he knows and he had the gall to say that, to look at Sukuna like that.

The expression on Sukuna's face gave Satoru pause, a chill running down his spine as he was filled with a sense of unease that he quickly tried to brush away. The tattooed man had yet to say a word, his eyes narrowed slightly and mouth frozen in a sneer as he stared silently at Satoru.

Clearing his throat, Satoru spoke once more, "if you're too tired we can just go to bed. We'll shower and talk whenever we wake up, might be able to get some food too."

The thought of food made Sukuna feel like his stomach was turning inside out. It wasn't hunger. It should've been, but something inside of him was certain that it wasn't. Rather, something more akin to revulsion. He knew whatever food he may be offered would not be what he needed, craved.

"Can you shut the lights off? Giving me a damn headache, so fuckin' bright," Sukuna grumbled, one shaky arm coming up to shield his eyes despite the throbbing in his side when he did so. He was going to have to check that out when he got a chance.

Satoru didn't comment on the bitterness laced in Sukuna's words as they were tossed carelessly in his direction. He assumed his friend was just exhausted, that maybe something had happened to him or his brothers that he wasn't ready to talk about. So he ignored the anxiety in his gut, he told himself that this was normal because nothing was normal anymore, and he turned off the lamp in the corner of the room— the only light that was on.

Neither of the men slept much that day. Sukuna had spent hours laying on his back, not daring to rest on either of his sides as the pain crawled along his body, refusing to let him go. It spread overnight, upwards and downwards. In its wake it left a searing sensation on the right side of his face, his stomach and, oddly enough, between his thighs.

It was strange.

He understood what was happening to him, and still, confusion riddled his mind. Feverish, sweat glistened across Sukuna's skin as his breathing turned shallow, his brain clouded in a fog.

"Satoru?" Sukuna rasped, his mouth dry and throat raw from his journey.

There was no response save for the soft muffled sound of chatter coming from another part of the house. With a groan, Sukuna forced himself to sit up, doing his best to ignore the aching but he no longer could when he felt it— the way his shirt was clinging to his sides. Damp with something more viscous than sweat, the fabric was stuck to the skin over his ribs.

Fuck. When had he even started bleeding? Sukuna supposed that he really did need a shower then, all things considered.

The closer he got to the door the louder the voices were. He couldn't exactly pinpoint where in the house they were coming from, but he recognized them instantly as Satoru's and the old man's. They appeared to be having a heated discussion about something.

"Did he tell ya where he's been? Where he came from?" The owner of the house was questioning Satoru intensely.

"Well, no, not yet—"

"So ya don't really know anythin' about this 'friend' of yours," the man cut him off.

"He was just tired, I told him we could talk today."

"Is that right?"

The man was skeptical, wary, especially after what Satoru had described to him earlier. He'd heard about how their latest guest was groaning all night, twitching in pain as he drifted in and out of sleep. He'd heard about how when there was finally enough light seeping through the curtains, Satoru was able to make out the dark, crimson stains on his shirt— they were not yet dry.

"First sign and he's gone. You too."

With that, Satoru was left alone. Sukuna could tell by the sound of retreating footsteps followed shortly by a door shutting, a lock clicking back into place.

Sukuna exhaled slowly, fearful of breathing too deeply and making the bleeding worse. The owner of the house wanted Satoru to gather information on him, and then to report back with whatever was found out. He wasn't told any of this. No, Satoru had acted like he was just happy to see an old friend, like he was relieved and only worried about his whereabouts.

Betrayal. The bitter emotion twisted in Sukuna's chest as he pulled his ear away from the door and stepped back because he knew Satoru was returning.

A moment later the knob turned, the door being pushed open enough for Satoru to peek his head around it. His eyes did a once over of Sukuna, no doubt taking in his current state, forming more snap judgments, gathering more intel.

Sukuna's mouth was pulled into a sneer before he could stop it. But he hated the look on his friend's face— if he could even still be called that. Sukuna wasn't quite sure where things stood between them.

Satoru's own lips were down-turned, a frown stretching across his face as his eyes swam with an emotion that Sukuna couldn't quite place. And he hated that too.

"You're bleeding," Satoru pointed out.

Obviously. "I know," Sukuna replied dryly.

Satoru's frown deepened, the expression registering in Sukuna's mind as disapproval rather than concern. "What happened?"

Sukuna just shrugged, wincing as the motion tugged at the skin over his ribs. Like hell he was going to answer any more of Satoru's questions, not since he knew what he was really doing. Helping out that man, trying to share things about Sukuna that he had no business knowing.

"Who cares. I gotta shower," Sukuna grumbled as he pushed past Gojo, muscles tensing as pain radiated out from his side but he tried not to show it on his face. He wasn't sure exactly where the bathroom was but he didn't want to ask. He'd find it on his own, he thought, he didn't need Satoru anymore.

The minute Sukuna flipped on the light in the bathroom, he immediately shut it back off. That old man must've installed a fucking 4,000 watt bulb. The singular overhead light had enough power to douse the bathroom in white, the tiles and mirror seemingly reflecting it all back at Sukuna. But he knew he can't just sit in the dark the entire time.

He needed to take a shower, which he could easily manage with the lights off after his eyes started to adjust. He was able to navigate the bathroom, stripping himself of his soiled clothes and tossing them on the floor before stepping onto cool porcelain.

Goosebumps peppered Sukuna's skin. He'd never imagined that he would feel cold again in this new world. He must've had a pretty bad fever for that to be the case, especially as he stood under the warm cascade of water.

Standing still, he let the water run over him, washing away the sweat and grime of the last few days. Before long, his skin began to sting. It stung in that familiar way when you try to rinse out a fresh wound, the water irritating the tender flesh, bringing with it a new wave of hurt. Jaw clenched tight, he suppressed the sound that threatened to spill out.

Sukuna shut off the water soon after. He had already decided that he'd sit in there for as long as it took to air dry if that meant he wouldn't need to press a rough towel to his skin.

But then he knew it was time.

Time to switch on the light and actually look at whatever was happening to him. It was time to face the truth that there was something very wrong— he knew it, Satoru knew it, anyone who'd seen him knew it.

With a deep breath he flicked on the light, wincing as the light flooded his vision again. Sukuna allowed himself the time needed for his eyes to adjust as much as they could before he moved in front of the mirror.

It was so much worse than anything he could have imagined.

The first thing he was met with was a face staring back at him. Sure, it's his, but it looks nothing like the reflection he'd been used to seeing, the one he'd seen every time he looked in a mirror before. The right side of his face was turning a deep shade of red and purple, the surface of the skin becoming calloused and leathery.

"Shit."

It almost looked like it had been burned, and a part of Sukuna wanted to tell himself that must have been what happened. That after he'd passed out, he was briefly exposed to the sun before getting to safety.

A part of him fought to find a way to support that theory, though the larger part of him knew that's all it was— a theory.

The reality of what was happening to him was much more complicated and irreparable than a burn. And that became impossible to ignore the minute that Sukuna lifted his arms as high as he could, exposing his sides to his hesitant gaze.

Sukuna's stomach twisted at the sight, bile threatening to rise up and out of his throat as he lurched forward with a gag. The putrid smell of what could only be described as raw meat wafted into his nose. It was only faintly masked by the metallic scent of blood.

A gaping wound expanded along either side of his torso, thick streams of red slowly oozing from them. Sukuna had no idea how they had formed nor what had caused them. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Every emotion that was swirling within the man had been washed away and replaced with confusion and revulsion.

And the most inexplicable part was that the contusion was not inward facing, like a deep gash, but rather it protruded outwards. Turning slightly to the side, Sukuna could see the way his skin was stretched beyond its means.

Was it swelling?

It must've been. It was the only logical explanation. But was previously accepted logic even something to be clinging to at that time?

His breathing came shallow, his hands trembling as they reached to prod at the injury. But one graze of his fingertips had Sukuna letting out a sharp hiss, his arm retracting at an inhuman speed in response to the tenderness.

What the fuck was he going to do about that?

Sukuna froze when he took a step, the movement reminding him of yet another uncomfortable issue— the stinging between his legs. He couldn't look. If it was anything like how his ribs looked, he wasn't sure he would be able to handle it mentally.

The mere possibility of his dick being a mangled mess smothered in blood caused him to retch. Heaving, Sukuna gripped the sides of the sink as he vomited into the bowl.

There wasn't much to come up. His appetite had been nonexistent for whatever reason, leaving him with nothing but his own stomach acid swimming around in his gut. His throat burned as he swallowed thickly and a sour taste was left in his mouth that he could barely rinse out.

He needed to pull it together.

It didn't matter what was going on with him, all that mattered was that no one else found out. Not the other guests, not the owner of the home, not even Satoru. Especially not Satoru.

It was really none of their business anyway, but Sukuna was sure they'd try to make it theirs. Fucking nosy, the whole lot of them. Not a single person under that roof knew how to worry about themselves and that thought irritated Sukuna like no other.

Talking about him, all hushed voices and whispers as they uttered his name and came up with outlandish hypotheses. They thought he couldn't hear them but they were all so loud they may as well have been speaking straight into his ear. Honestly, they were dumb as all hell if they thought he didn't know what was going on.

No, he knew. He knew that they wanted to get rid of him. They acted like they didn't trust him, but they were the ones not to be trusted.

A shame, really, considering at one point he truly thought Gojo to be one of his best friends.

Sukuna supposed this was to be expected though— disasters like this change people.

A sudden knock at the door pulled Sukuna from his thoughts, his head whipping to the side as he barked out a gruff, "what?"

It was Gojo. He could tell by the hesitation, the way he cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking. "You alright in there? It's been a while."

And for a brief second, Sukuna's features softened as he felt that Satoru may have genuinely been concerned about him. But he knew better. "I'm fine," Sukuna replied flatly. "Is that all you want?"

"Well, I also brought you a change of clothes because I noticed you forgot them. I grabbed them from your bag, I hope that's cool."

No, it was not cool. Sukuna inhaled deeply, attempting to quell his ire as he imagined Gojo rummaging through his things. The last of his personal belongings, and they were all being touched, no doubt inspected by Gojo.

"Just leave them there." Sukuna's tone made it clear that he was done talking.

With a sigh Satoru did as Sukuna said, dropping the clothes in a small heap at the foot of the door. Conflict swirled in his chest as he turned away, padding softly back to the living room that had become more of a bedroom.

Satoru found himself battling with what to do. His friend was most certainly not okay— but he also had no proof that it had anything to do with the visitors because Sukuna hadn't been tested. For all he knew, Sukuna really could have just been struggling with an injury or an illness he'd picked up during his journey. If that were the case, Satoru would have never forgiven himself if he were to abandon Sukuna, leaving him alone once more. In his current state, Satoru doubted Sukuna would've lasted more than a day.

Getting dressed was a difficult task. Sukuna tried to delicately pull the clean clothes on as best he could with his shaking hands. Sweat had returned to his forehead, his body an uncomfortable mix of hot and cold which told him that his fever was still hanging around.

He didn't bother taking the old clothes back to his room with him. There was no way he planned on keeping them with the way they were soaked through with blood, sweat, and whatever other bodily fluids had leaked from his lacerations. So he just bundled them up and dropped them in the trashcan.

Surely the clothes he had on would be looking the same in a couple hours, but that was a later problem.

Sukuna didn't bother speaking to Gojo when he returned to their room. Still, Gojo tried to engage with him, throwing out another maddening "how're you doing?" He always fucking asked that. If he'd actually meant it then Sukuna would have considered responding. Instead, he turned his back to him and crawled onto the couch in silence.

Gojo took that as his queue to shut off the lamp, leaving the two of them in a heavy darkness.

Sukuna had expected to sleep for maybe an hour, two if he was lucky. He had never imagined he would pass out the minute his eyes closed, his broad form laying so still atop the couch that he could be mistaken for a corpse. He'd remained that way for hours, sleeping all the way until the sun set and the day was over.

He awoke to an empty room. The light was still shut off but Sukuna could see enough despite the dark.

Padding silently to the door, the voices on the other side grew louder with each step. Sukuna couldn't help but take note of how good he felt.

Even with the inexplicable residual anger that he could feel simmering within him, Sukuna was calm, maybe even amused. At what, he wasn't sure. He just knew that he needed to move on someplace else. That house wasn't where he needed to be anymore.

Rolling his neck with a crack, Sukuna opened the door before ducking under the frame. He stalked down the hallway until he found the source of the whispering— two men sitting across from one another at a small table.

They looked up immediately. It took a moment for realization to set in, but it was clear when it did. Confused expressions morphed into fear as two sets of eyes rolled over Sukuna's body, widening with each passing second.

The one with snowy white hair spoke first, a pathetic stutter that was choked out. Just his name. "S-Sukuna?"

The older man snapped at him, "Gojo, get the—"

Gojo. Sukuna knew the name, he felt something tug inside him when he heard it but he couldn't quite place how he knew it.

"What happened to you?" Satoru's voice was broken. Fractured with despair, a result of the overwhelming helplessness that flooded Satoru's system the moment Sukuna had stepped into the kitchen.

Sukuna cocked his head at Satoru, like he wasn't even sure what his question was referring to. "Nothing happened. What makes you say that?"

"Gojo." Sukuna's eyes slid back over to the other pest at the table, irritation seeping into his face as he looked down at him. "The gun."

A gun? What did they honestly think that would do? Slow him down at best, until he had a few days to recover. Sukuna couldn't help but laugh.

Meanwhile, Satoru felt paralyzed. The bitter laughter rung out in his ears as he remained unable to move, unable to even look away from what used to be his close friend. Like a horrible car crash, his gaze was glued to the tragedy before him— the roughly seven foot tall being with half of its face covered in a hardened mask, four arms protruding out from its torso.

And it all happened so fast after that. Not even a small cry of Sukuna's name made it past Satoru's lips before the house was still again. Silence settled over the kitchen as Sukuna rolled out his neck once more, the bones cracking softly.

The old man wasn't much of a sight, slumped forward over the table. Sukuna ignored him, choosing instead to eye the younger man. The same feeling pulled at him again when he studied the body in front of him. That dead expression, complete with dull blue eyes and soft white hair cascading over his forehead as his head hung backwards.

Gojo.

Sukuna already knew that name was going to stick with him, constantly swirling around his muddled thoughts. It brought with it a sense of nostalgia that bothered him. It crept under his skin that no longer seemed to fit right, burrowing deeper until it became a part of him, something he would always carry with him.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it. Not then, at least. He had to keep moving, had to leave the house he was in and make his way to the next one.

There was no explanation as to why he needed to go there, it was just what he was told.

So he went.

Leaving the old wooden home, Sukuna turned his back to it. He set his sights on the next house that stood alone, overlooking the rest of its neighbors in a stillness that seemed impossible to disturb.

Your home.

And that first night where he spotted you through the window, with that irresistible look of fear on your face as you stood there, staring back at him. The feeling that turned over in his gut served as confirmation that he was in the right place. And then you slid the curtains shut, blocking him out like that would be enough to get rid of him. He couldn't stop the smile that split across his face.

There was no getting rid of him. You would see that soon enough.

When you awoke, you were filled with a sense of dread. Not directed toward the current state of the world and your existence, but rather at the thought of what you had to do today. Talking to people, testing them. From your point of view, it was a pain in the ass. But at the end of the day, you know you have no other option.

While the two individuals you decided to let into your home seemed fine, you could never be too sure. And even though you feel as though the tests would be unreliable, it's also all you have.

Still, you decide you want to talk to them first. You want to try and pry out whatever information you can about their lives before the cataclysm, what they did once they got the news, what they were doing walking around looking for shelter.

With a steadying breath you push open the door to the living room. Both of your guests are in there, sitting in silence, avoiding one another.

The first man, a tall individual with honey blonde hair and sunken cheeks, stares at you through tired eyes as you approach. He hardly reacts as you cross the room toward him. He just stays in his spot, expressionless, even when his gaze flits to the shotgun in your grip.

He's not dumb, he knows that there's suspicion. He figures he'd actually question it more if you weren't taking precautions.

"What would you like to know?" he speaks first.

Trust is scarce nowadays, and for good reason. You're not expecting to get much out of your guests, so his question leaves you stunned for a moment. You can feel the weight of another set of eyes on you as your sweaty palms adjust their hold on your gun.

"What were you doing before all this?" you ask, fighting to keep your voice even.

"Before the cataclysm?"

You nod, urging him to continue.

"Sales," he sighs. You don't reply, not yet. You can tell he's gathering the energy to keep talking, no doubt facing his own internal struggle— you all were. "When I was young, there was more to my life. Friends, family, school. But when I got older… I don't know. I let that all fade away, I guess. I lost myself in my work because all I could think about was making enough money to retire."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. You're not sure what to say. 'It's okay'? That feels disingenuous considering he's clearly not okay. 'Well, at least you don't need to work anymore'? That feels even worse, borderline insensitive.

You chew at the inside of your cheek, mulling over your responses before settling on a simple, "everyone loses their way at some point."

A long sigh leaves the man. He doesn't look up at you, keeping his head down even when he keeps talking.

"I ignored everything else, everyone else. I couldn't think about anything but my next paycheck. I just wanted to make something better for myself, you know?" He pauses, a quiet sniff coming from him and you stand awkwardly, unsure of how to comfort him.

When he finally raises his gaze to you again, his eyes are glossed over, the tip of his nose brushed pink. "I must have pretty shit luck. One day I wake up and money doesn't mean anything anymore. Everything I'd worked for, isolated myself for, gone with one news report."

Yeah. That's pretty fucking bad luck, you think. No one is guaranteed tomorrow, you're sure he knew that. But still, even when you're aware of that truth, no one wants to believe that fate may await them.

You avert your gaze, unable to keep looking at him. The desperate expression on his face makes you feel like you need to comfort him, and you hate that. You hate that you even asked him to share information with you in the first place.

You've never been good with people.

"I need to test you."

Thankfully, he understands. He seems to register again that even though he's in your home, you're still complete strangers. He can't expect much from you in the form of consolation.

It feels silly when you ask him to smile wide for you— like you're the fucking dentist. But he listens without protest, hooking a finger into his cheeks and pulling, giving you a clear view of each tooth.

It's not a pretty sight.

Teeth stained yellow, his foul breath wafts into your face making you recoil quickly. In retrospect, that is to be expected. These people haven't been home in who knows how long, traveling with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Still, the expression on your face is clearly one of disgust as you're unable to stop the instinctual reaction that overcomes you.

You're sure he had good hygiene before the apocalypse. One look at him and you feel like you can picture the man he used to be. Dry cleaned suits, probably ironed each morning. Gelled hair and expensive cologne.

The embarrassment is evident on his face and you almost feel bad again. But then you remember that there's nothing you can do but let him hide out here for the time being.

"Okay, thanks," you mumble, turning from him. You already feel drained.

Just one more, you tell yourself as you cross the room again, stopping in front of the other couch.

He stares at you but he doesn't speak. He waits for you to address him first, and it's clear he's not as willing to offer up information about himself.

"And you?" You do a slow scan of the man before you, from dark circles under his eyes and the tattoo across his nose, all the way down to the worn out boots on his feet. "What's your story?"

He's wearing a baggy hoodie that he tugs tighter around him, arms folding across his chest. Your brows knit together when you notice the shiver that runs through him, the way his teeth chatter lightly when he takes a breath before speaking.

"It's not m-much of a story," he starts, stuttering when he trembles as another chill runs through him. "I lived with my brother, one of them, I have two. Or h-had, I guess."

"What happened to them?" You could take a gamble and have a good chance at being right, either the visitors got to him or the sun did, but you ask him anyways. You can never be too sure and even if he says something you expected, he may offer up more information in the process.

"My younger brother, the o-one I lived with, he was taken. FEMA had come by, saying they needed someone, had to run some tests, you know? I-I tried to tell them to t-take me. They wouldn't listen."

Your heart twists in your chest. You've lived on your own for a long time, but his story still hits hard. The longing in his voice, the sorrow swirling in his irises, it all conveys the depth of his emotion in a way you couldn't ignore even if you tried— and you were trying.

It was fucking bleak.

The whole situation you were all in, not just the shit he was telling you. There was just no other way to look at things. There was no positive lens that you could cast over your new reality. There was no space left in your mind to compartmentalize because it was all taken up, filled with endless thoughts of the cataclysm, your food supply, the sun, the heat, the pale visitor.

"And your other brother?"

The man shrugs and holds himself tighter, hands rubbing up and down his arms in a hopeless attempt to warm himself up. "D-don't know. He's lived on his own for a w-while. I tried to text h-him but it didn't go through."

"And what have you been doing since? Before you got here."

"N-nothing really. I stayed home until FEMA kicked us all out. I stayed with some people f-for a day or so but I don't r-remember much more than that…" He trails off, expression vacant as you assume he tries to recall the last few days. "Just wandered I guess, until n-now."

It's definitely not the most iron-clad story of his whereabouts, but it's not necessarily unbelievable. Trauma will do that to a person, fuck with their head, mess with their memories, leave them feeling confused and uncertain.

You have to tread carefully.

You have to decide when to trust and when to be skeptical, when to back off and when to pull the trigger. You can feel your heartbeat accelerating as the stress begins to settle in. You hate this. All the decision making, the knowledge that real lives are on the line, weighing in the balance as you consider each side.

"Okay," you sigh. You're tired of questioning for today, except for one last inquiry. One last curiosity that you haven't been able to stop thinking about. "Are you cold?"

Something rustles behind you and you imagine it must be the blonde man shuffling in his seat. No doubt he's been eavesdropping, probably wondering the same thing and waiting for you to bring it up.

He hesitates, apprehension written across his face as he weighs his response, trying to decide how much to reveal to you. "Y-yes. I'm always cold now." Sorrow is written into his words, his head hanging low once more as he stares at his feet. "No matter what I do, I c-can't get warm."

"Even with all this heat from the sun?"

He shakes his head lightly. "No, the sun burns me but its heat does nothing."

"Weird," you mutter, more to yourself. Then you remember what you were really there to do and clear your throat, drawing his gaze back up to you. "I need to test you."

"Alright. What do you want to check?"

You suppose you'll keep your tests the same for the two of your guests. "Your teeth, I guess."

Using his fingers, he pulls his cheeks apart to give you a good view of them. They're pearly white, straight and even. This time a chill runs down your spine, goosebumps littering your skin. You think back to the news reports, the pictures of the perfect, white teeth that they said are a sign of visitors.

Your fingers grip the shotgun tighter as a million thoughts race through your head.

Should you shoot him now? Or wait and see if he has any other signs? But what if you leave him be and then he kills you and the other guy? No, you should kill him now. Even if he's a human it's better safe than sorry. Right? Although, weren't you just thinking about how dumb these signs are in the first place? How inaccurate the information seems to be?

Maybe it's a bit too paranoid to shoot someone based off of a nice set of teeth. Maybe he had a spectacular orthodontist.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you take a deep breath, willing the poor muscle to slow down before it burns itself out.

"Well?" The man's voice pulls you back to the present. He's staring up at you, waiting for your decision and you finally loosen your grip, letting your shoulders sag as you let out a long sigh.

"You've got some white teeth, that's for sure."

"Thanks," he mumbles, "I think."

He pulls his feet up onto the couch. Hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees, he curls up in the corner and it's clear he's closed you out now. You know that you'll get nothing more from him today.

That's all you have the energy for. The whole ordeal was surprisingly exhausting, and you decide to head straight to bed. You're still adjusting to this new routine. You only find yourself awake during the day for a few hours at a time, and after that you sleep until the sun sets.

You feel a bit more confident in your decisions when you rise again. The moon is already hanging high, but everyone in your house is alive and well. You can hear them when you press your ear up to the door— the tell-tale shivering and the sound of pages flipping in a book.

You check the windows again, peeking around the curtains or through the blinds, not wanting to miss anything important. A wave of relief washes over you when you find the views empty. Just the same burnt field and vacant dirt roads, no strange creatures or four-armed visitors waiting to meet your gaze through the glass.

But then the knocking comes. Five hard raps against the wood, each one louder, harsher than any you've heard before.

You don't need to look through the peep hole to know who, or what, is standing on your porch. The sinking feeling in your stomach is enough of a warning as to why you didn't see the pale visitor through your window.

He's already at your front door.

yay finally finished part 2! i hope u guys enjoyed. shoutout @seventasia for beta reading 𖹭

perm sukuna tags (from venusins): @cupidstrace @kamoswrld @sukubusss @cosmosalight @onlykuna @amooorette @luvleixo @mmari-07 @nishinoya-senpaai @gabrielliyy @tojiscreampie @ita606 @babbiez @buttrsc0tch @sugrfairie @officiallydrunk @kalihrts @fawnsfantasy @iridescentshine @anubisvoid2 @k1yomee @kunababy @sttvr @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @junofern @volleyballgirl2022 @trsh-kitty @littlemisssatorugirl @skinstickets @burpzz @tocinoandkamatis @fairyof553 @grignardsreagent @nicerthanu @seellove @haazelnuutloover @arigato-rei @paintedperidot @angeleclair @astridgraves @cliffaria @winkii @kittykatz777 @hazedrat @liszero @justhereforthehottea @poeticbe4uty @planetchoso @lemonjuicie

[barbieandkento]

PART 2 IS FINALLY OUT AND VENUS HAS A NEW BLOG LIFE IS GOOOODDDDD LIFE IS WORTH LIVING AGAINNNN

[sapph22]

Business proposal

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.

Pairings : Yandere JJK men x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna,Toji, Nanami

A/n: MDNI, 18+, I've decided not to include Geto Suguru😔. I'm sorry cuties

Part 1 - part 2 part 3

Your mother has this particular way of smiling when she's about to ruin your life. It's not malicious per se. She loves you, in her own way. She also happens to see you as an asset that's been sitting on the shelf too long, depreciating while your cousins pop out heirs after heirs

“We’ve found some potential matches for you,” your mother said over breakfast on a random fucking Tuesday “Your father and I think it’s time you settled down.”

The coffee you were drinking nearly comes out your nose, which would’ve been unfortunate because you were wearing white and also because aspirating liquids hurts like a bitch.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Your mother didn't even blink. She’d perfected selective hearing around the same time you’d discovered the word ‘fuck’ could be used as a noun, verb, adjective, and general life philosophy.

“Four young men from very good families…”

"We're not in the Bridgeton, mother. Arranged marriages aren't…”

"Business marriages," your mother corrected, sipping her tea "The Kang family did it last year. Their daughter is very happy in Singapore now."

"The Kang daughter cries on Instagram Live every other Tuesday." You stared at her

"She has a Birkin collection. Tears dry, sweetheart. Leather lasts." She stareed back

“Mother, I can’t…”

Your father finally lowered his newspaper “Then we’ll need to reconsider your position at the company. And your living arrangements.”

Ah. There it was. The threat wrapped up in a neat little bow .

Agree to this circus, or lose your cushy job (where you mostly online shopped). And your apartment (paid for by your parents)

You wanted to tell them to shove their arranged meetings up their….

But you also really, really likedhaving money. And not having to eat instant ramen for every meal. And your bathtub. You’ve gotten very attached to that bathtub.

So you smiled “Of course. When do I start?”

Your mother’s face lit up “Wonderful! We’ll have the files sent over.”

Files.

They had FILES on these men.

Nothing says true love quite like a background check and a financial statement.

—

Four names: Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento

Four strangers

Fuck that.

If they wanted you to do this, fine. But nobody said you had to make it easy. They’d be begging their mothers to call the whole thing off by week’s end.

And that’s where your brilliant, genius, absolutely foolproof plan came in.

(It's going to blow up in your face spectacularly, but you don't know that yet.)

The files arrived the next morning. You spread the folders across your kitchen counter like you were planning a heist instead of four dates.

Dates. Meetings. Whatever.

—

Folder 1

FUSHIGURO TOJI, 28

His photo looked like a mugshot.

Okay, it wasn’t actually a mugshot, byt he had that vibe.Scar on his lip. Expression that said “I’d rather be literally anywhere else and also fuck you.”

Technically the heir to a massive Zenin equity firm.

Technically. Because apparently Toji was the family disappointment. Estranged from his relatives, only showed up when he needed money. Multiple failed business ventures. A reputation for being a fuck up who lived off his family name while giving them middle fingers in return.

Ah. A broke rich boy.

His social media accounts existed but were barely used. Most photos were him tagged by other people at bars, looking annoyed. One photo of him at what looked like an underground fight club.

Wait.

You zoomed in.

Was that blood on his shirt?

Jesus Christ.

Day 1 - Toji Fushiguro Tuesday, Hotel Bar, Shinjuku

Operation: Bimbo infiltration

Strategy: “Think born yesterday”

Toji shows up at the restaurant looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. Hes only here because his family threatened to cut off his credit cards.

He doesnt give a shit about marriage or alliances or any of this corporate dynasty bullshit. He likes money. That’s it.

He's not even trying to hide it… slouched in his chair, jacket thrown carelessly over the back, phone out on the table. He barely looks up when you approach.

Perfect. This should be easy.

“Ohmygod, hi!” You chirp “You must be Toji”

And then you trip over absolutely nothing on your way to the table, catching yourself on the edge with a little yelp.

"Oops!!! I’m such a dum dum,” you giggle, batting your eyelashes.

He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Fine, fine” You wave your hand and somehow knock over the water glass in the process. Ice and water spill across the table, dripping onto his lap.

"Fuck… "

"Oh my god, I'm SO sorry” You grab a napkin and start dabbing at his pants, which puts you in very close proximity to his crotch. "I'm such a mess, I can't believe I did that….”

He grabs your wrist, stopping you. "It's fine. Just… sit down."

You sit, face arranged into earnest distress.

"I'm really sorry. I'm just so nervous. These meetings make me all jittery and I get butterfingers and then I do stupid stuff and…” You take a breath. "Sorry. I'm rambling. I do that when I'm nervous. Ramble, I mean. Just talk and talk and….”

"Got it.” He cuts you off “You're nervous." He takes a long sigh then and looong sip of his drink.

"Super nervous. You're really intimidating, you know?” You laugh, too loud. "But I'm sure you're really nice underneath, right? Like a, um, a cinnamon roll. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside?"

He stares at you.

“Or not.. That's okay too. Not everyone's a cinnamon roll. Some people are just, um, bread. Regular bread. Which is also good!!! Bread is great."

"Are you done?” He finally snaps

"No. I mean yes. Im sorry." You bury your face in your hands. "I'm so bad at this. I don't know why my parents thought I could do this, I can barely order coffee without messing it up… "

The waiter appears. You manage to mispronounce three items on the menu before Toji takes over and orders for both of you.

"Thanks," you smile brightly "I'm not good at fancy words. All those French names, you know?"

"It's Italian."

"Ohh, silly me” You laugh again.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose.

The hour continues like this. You ramble…. while Toji's expression shifts gradually from bored to annoyed to something approaching existential despair.

By the time you finally stand to leave (knocking your purse off the bar in the process), he looks like he's genuinely considering faking his own death to avoid a second meeting.

"This was so fun" you smile brightly, gathering your scattered belongings. "We should totally do it again.

He grunts and it might be the sound of his soul leaving his body.

One down

Folder 2

Nanami Kento, 26

Oh.

He looked… normal? Everything about him screamed “responsible adult.”

Investment banker. Impeccable reputation… and they really emphasized IMPECCABLE in the file.

No scandals. No messy breakups. No public relationships at all.

Every article described him as “the perfect gentleman” with 3 P’s … Punctual. Professional. Polite.

He was too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

Day 2 - Nanami Kento Wednesday, French Restaurant, Roppongi

Operation : Make the Gentleman Squirm

You're five minutes late on purpose.

Nanami is already seated, of course… in his perfectly tailored suit, checking his watch with a small furrow between his brows.

"Mr Nanami, I apologize for the delay," you say sweetly, sliding into your seat.

"It's fine." His tone suggests it is very much not fine. "Traffic, I assume."

"Something like that." You lean forward on your elbows, knowing exactly what that does to your cleavage. “You're even more handsome in person."

Those hazel eyes meet yours, then quickly… very quickly… drop to the menu. “Thank you."

"I mean it." You let your eyes drag down his body, slow and obvious. "That suit fits you really well. Custom, right? Must do wonders for your shoulders."

A faint flush creeps up his neck.

Gotcha.

"I... yes. It's custom."

"I bet you work out." You tilt your head. "You look like you work out. What's your routine? No, wait… let me guess. You're a morning gym guy. Up at five type ."

"Five thirty, actually."

"Close enough." You grin "I'm more of a 'stay in bed until the last possible second' type myself. We're practically opposites.”

He clears his throat. "Perhaps we could order?"

You order something light… you're not really hungry… and spend the entire time making unnecessary eye contact with Nanami.

"I read that you've never had a serious relationship. Is that true?" You ask

He stiffens. "I've been... focused on my career."

"Mmm." You lean closer. "So you're not really experienced then. With women." You trace the rim of your wine glass with one finger.

His eyes follow your finger. Then snap back to your face. “I wouldn't say….”

"It's okay." You reach across the table and pat his hand. Let your fingers brush. "I can work with that. I have lots of experience."

His hand jerks back like "That's... very forward of you."

"Is it?" You bat your eyelashes.

The flush has spread to his ears now.

You spend the rest of the date making increasingly suggestive comments.

The food arrives. You eat slowly, making a show of enjoying every bite. At one point you let out a small sound… and watch Nanami's knuckles go white around his fork.

He sets his fork down. Picks up his water. Takes a very long sip.

By the time the check arrives… he pays, of course, because he's ‘polite’… Nanami Kento looks like he's been through a war.

"Call me." You wink. “ I had fun.”

You left him standing there, looking like he needed a cold shower and possibly a priest.

Two down.

Folder 3

Ryomen Sukuna, 29

His photo was… intimidating.

Tattoos visible even in what was clearly a professional headshot… which, props to whoever convinced him to sit for that. Expression that suggested he was mentally planning your murder.

CEO of a luxury hotel chain with international reach.

Also: multiple arrests.

Three assault charges, all dropped. One arson investigation, dismissed. Suspected ties to organized crime, never proven. The Itadori family's lawyers are apparently worth every yen, because this man should be in prison, not on a dating profile.

You switched to social media. His accounts were private, but fan accounts existed. FAN ACCOUNTS. For a CEO with anger issues??

Rich and dangerous. Probably bored of women throwing themselves at him.

Day 3 - Sukuna Ryomen Thursday, Private Members' Club

Operation: Gold Digger

You walk in wearing every piece of designer clothing you own. Dress with the Dior label clearly visible.

Sukuna makes no move to stand or pull out your chair when you arrive.

“Hi!” You slide into the seat across from him, dropping your designer bag on the table with a heavy thunk. “ Sorry I'm late”

He nods once… crimson eyes dragging over your outfit with absolutely zero expression.

Not impressed. Not disgusted. Just… nothing.

“This place is so fancy. Is it expensive? It looks expensive." You lean forward, smiling brightly.

“Yes.” his expression doesn't change

Okay. Man of few words. You can work with this.

Silence.

The kind of silence that would make most people uncomfortable.

You push through it.

"So," you continue, "I looked you up. Your family is like, really rich, right? What's that like?"

His eyebrow raises slowly. Like he couldn’t believe you’d just asked that. “Is that relevant?"

"Well, yeah." You laugh "I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it? To see if we're a good match? And I think lifestyle compatibility is super important."

Something that might have been disbelief crosses his face.

You flag down a waiter and order the most expensive thing on the menu.

"I love nice things," you explain. "and I can always tell quality when I see it. You can't really put a price on quality, you know? This dress, for example…” You point at the dress “….twenty eight thousand yen. Pre season Dior. I have a personal shopper who gets me things before they hit the regular collections.”

The waiter returns with the champagne. You make him pour you a glass and immediately hold it up to the light, examining it critically.

"This is the '98, right? Not the '02? Because I can tell the difference."

You absolutely cannot tell the difference. You bought your last bottle of wine from a convenience store.

"You're quite….. direct," he says finally…. watching you with an expression that's impossible to read. Disgust? Annoyance? Homicidal intent? All three?

Three words this time! Progress.

"I just believe in honesty." You take a sip of champagne. "I know what I bring to a relationship, and I know what I expect in return. Fair trade, right?"

"And what do you bring?" Sukuna asks, and you can't tell if hes genuinely curious or just morbidly fascinated by your audacity.

You gesture to yourself again, "Isn't it obvious?"

Sukuna picks up his wine glass and drinks half of it in one go. He spoke maybe twenty words total throughout the entire meal.

By the end, he looked ready to flip the table.

"This was fun," you say brightly as you leave. "We should do it again sometime. Maybe somewhere with better champagne?"

He just stares at you like you're an alien species.

“I’ll wait for your message” You give him a little wave. “Ciao!”

Three down

Folder 4

Gojo Satoru, 27

“Oh fuck off” The photo alone made you want to throw your wine at the wall. Gorgeous didn’t even cover it. He looked like someone had designed him specifically to make women stupid.

You kept reading, already annoyed.

Heir to Gojo Enterprises. Worth billions with a B.

There were photos. So many photos.

Gojo at charity galas with models. Gojo at clubs with actresses. Gojo at a beach in Monaco with someone who was definitely an Instagram influencer.…. always with beautiful women who looked like they’d never eaten carbs.

Rich, bored, and fucking everything that moves.

You grabbed your laptop and did what any sane person would do… went full stalker mode on social media.

His Instagram was a goldmine of red flags. The comments were even better.

“Marry me”

“I volunteer as tribute”

“He can ruin my life”

Jesus Christ.

This man has probably seen more lingerie than a Victoria's Secret buyer.

A manwhore with a trust fund

Day 4 - Gojo Satoru Friday, the Peninsula Hotel

Youre going to vomit.

Not from nerves… well, maybe partly from nerves, but mainly because you’ve stress eaten an entire sleeve of crackers in the Uber.

Also, your shapewear was cutting off circulation to your legs.

Why did you wear shapewear under a modest funeral dress? What were you even shaping? The outfit is practically a potato sack.

Too late now.

You're dressed like you're going to a funeral. Or church. Or a funeral at a church. Currently clutching a small cross pendant you borrowed from your grandmother's jewellery box.

You push open the door… which is heavier than it looks and you nearly face plant, great start… and immediately spot him.

Gojo Satoru is impossible to miss. Jesus fucking Christ, those eyes.

He's scrolling on his phone, completely at ease, probably sexting three different women right now.

He looks up when you walk in and smiles

Oh no.

"You must be my future wife," he says, and his voice is warm honey poured over gravel. "I have to say, the photos didn't do you justice."

Don't react. Don't react. You're a good Christian woman who doesn't react to sinful men.

You arrange your face into something you hope reads as "scandalized."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me," you say, voice soft and earnest like you're greeting a pastor.

“Of course.” He pulls out your chair… gentleman points, you suppose… and gestures. “Please.”

You sit, immediately folding your hands in your lap like you were at a prayer meeting.

He settles back into his chair, still smiling. That smile hasn’t faltered once. Is it surgically attached to his face?

“Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Just water, please.” You smile sweetly.

The waiter brings water. You thank him quietly, taking small, delicate sips like you were in a Victorian novel.

Gojo leans back, completely comfortable. “So, I have to admit… I was curious when my parents mentioned this meeting.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” That smile somehow got wider. “They said you were… different from the usual arrangements.”

Different. That could mean anything.

“Different how?” you ask, tilting your head innocently.

“Just different.” His eyes are doing that sparkly thing. Is he always this sparkly? Its unsettling. “But I’m already intrigued.”

Oh, he was intrigued now.

Just wait.

“That’s very kind of you,” you say, voice still sweet and soft. “I should probably mention something upfront, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Mr Gojo” You fold your hands more carefully, sitting up straighter

"Satoru, please." He sits back down, legs crossed, "Mr Gojo is my father. And he's an asshole, so."

You don't laugh. "I believe in traditional values."

"Oh?" his smile flickers

You pull out your phone and show him your lockscreen… a stock photo of a church you found on Google last night. "I actually volunteer with my local congregation here. We do purity workshops for young women."

"Purity... workshops?"

"Mmhm. Teaching them to save themselves for their future husbands." You tilt your head. "Do you go to church, Mr Gojo?"

“No.”

Just flat out “no.” Not even trying to soften it.

“Oh.” You bit your lip, looking concerned. “That’s… we might need to work on that. I could help you.”

“And I should mention” you add, voice dropping to a more serious tone “ We should have a chaperone for our dates until we’re engaged.”

“A chaperone? Why?”

“Just to avoid temptation!!!! Once we’re engaged we can spend more supervised time together.”

Gojo drained his entire coffee in one long gulp.

The server came by to check on you. Gojo looked at them like they were a life raft. “Actually, could I get another coffee? Double shot.”

Every time Gojo tries to steer the conversation toward something normal…hobbies, work, interests…. you bring it back to your values.

By the time youre finished, Gojo looks like he’s aged five years.

“I’ll be praying about this,” you add brightly. “About whether God is calling us together. I’ll let you know what He reveals to me.”

“Right. God. Sure.”

“Have a blessed evening” You give him your sweetest smile and leave him standing there, probably questioning every decision that has led to this moment.

All down

—

Now you just had to wait for them to reject you.

The week that follows is blissfully silent. No calls. No texts. You’ve done it. You’ve successfully repelled four of the most eligible bachelors in the country through the sheer power of being a fucking nightmare.

You wake up on the eighth day, the morning sun streaming through your window, a victorious smirk on your face. You stretch, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

The war is over

You reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time.

And freeze.

Four notifications. Four messages. All received within minutes of each other, night.

Your heart plummets into your stomach. No. No, no, no.

With trembling fingers, you open them.

From: Gojo Satoru… Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior.

From: Ryomen Sukuna Name your terms. I’m interested.

From: Nanami Kento… I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?

From: Fushiguro Toji Hey. You’re weird. I’m in.

You drop your phone on your face.

Fuck.

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨

@iheartanzai

@satoruslovey @livedianalove @retiredpieceofshits @rennox7 @porcelaiinedoll @princesa-starlight @lovermiwmiw @queenbloody @crystielle @lady-ofthe-night @jaehyunsleftnut @toru-saki @takibug @gojoswaterbottle @teenyping @apored123 @succubussdreams @qngelical @valberryboos @nunlessthandesii @dooniii @miyumayonaise @julieno1lover @metal-fl @mangegeek17 @nightwingsgirlfaliure @lialiaaaaaaa @plasticsheepponycollector @savorxe @prome911 @mxchiii @hifluvlevi @darkraikami22-blog @vaguenebulaee @tansyfleurwhisper @peachyperrie @alex2602 @love-d-luxe @lavenderlymilk @izukuswifw7 @1800cum @pockyy27 @tiredasl @serratedmarionetteturtle @herasuma @goojooo @hirominami @thebornqueen @gerardway67

[barbieandkento]

giggled hard-core reading this 🤪

[hunnismokah]

prince nanami 🤭

[httpskrys]

the return of prince!nanami !! (for real this time!) @barbieandkento

[barbieandkento]

dangerous time for my busy-with-studying-law-ass to see this and get a shit ton of writing inspo,,,,

[barbieandkento]

HEHE IVE MISSED U TOO 😚😚

I LOVED THE PART WHEN Y/N SURPRISED NANAMI AND HES LIKE SO EXCITED OMG IM SQUEALING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT UGHH I NEED ME A MAN LIKE HIM 😭 UR WRITING IS JUST SUCH A FLUFFY BALL OF JOY AND IT WAS SO CUTEE 😝😍

AWW THATS SO CUTE AND IM SO GLAD TO HEAR U HAD FUN hehe

im like 110% i failed my chem test but live laugh love it is okay 👍

— 🐡

hi 🐡 nonnie!

omg tell me WHYYY life suddenly got super busy for me 😫 im feeling the pressure because my second qualification exams are in 5-6 weeks now! lots of late night studying up ahead for sure,,, save me nanami! live laugh love as you say 😂

as much as i like writing for a variety of jjk men, writing nanami is always a joy. so glad to know you liked the fic and that part in particular!!!

also I finally put up my signed poster from the concert!!!

[sweetfloralcollection]

Third Wheel, First Place

Summary:

You only asked Nanami to lunch. Gojo made it a group outing, a spectacle, and somehow, inexplicably, the best afternoon Nanami has had in years. He would never say that out loud. Gojo would never let him forget it.

Contains: fluff, female reader, romantic tension, pining!Nanami, jealous!Nanami, Gojo being a menace, third-wheel comedy, light embarrassment, food as affection, soft caretaking, quiet intimacy, pre-relationship, public setting, canon-verse jjk, happy ending

Word Count: 6.8k

Note: this is my first fic, so please be kind! i’m still learning and trying to get better, especially when it comes to coming up with more creative ideas. feedback really would mean a lot, and requests are open too if there’s something you’d like to see

Nanami hadn’t exactly leapt at the chance to leave jujutsu. It was like peeling a bandage fused to skin, slow, necessary, painful. He left behind comrades, years of habit, the kind of harsh routine that almost felt safe if you let it. But after watching the higher-ups toss away lives, after losing someone he could never replace, it stopped being a decision at all.

The years that followed left him raw. The nine-to-five grind, the overtime that never ended, pay that barely covered the exhaustion, he learned quickly that indifference wasn’t exclusive to sorcerers. His bosses just wore suits instead of uniforms, and their apathy was just as cold.

Returning to jujutsu after those intervening years felt like taking a breath after having been deprived of air for far too long. Looking back, he struggled to understand how he had survived in that colourless, empty existence for so many years. Perhaps he would have continued on that way, numb, dutiful, if he had not met her. Only after meeting her did this world become something he could genuinely want, even crave.

The morning air at Jujutsu High carried that familiar mix of cool stone, damp grass, and tea drifting faintly from somewhere nearby. Footsteps came and went along the paths.

Nanami stood, one hand in his slacks, tie neat, shirt crisp under his tan vest. Even off mission, he never quite looked relaxed.

“Nanami!”

You walked over, voice bright, two cups of coffee in hand, one for you, one for him. The skirt of your dress brushed your legs with every step, soft and easy, the kind of dress that looked effortless on you, even though it made it impossible for him not to notice the way it sat against your figure. By the time you reached him, the scent of coffee had already wrapped around him, warm and tempting.

You handed him his cup, fingers brushing his just long enough to make him wonder if you noticed. You cared for him so easily, as if it was second nature, as if you couldn’t help it.

His heart jumped, traitorous. Maybe you saw him as a close friend, hence why you remembered how he liked his coffee. He almost cursed himself for the flutter in his chest was far too ridiculous, boyish, and easy to read.

“Here. Figured you’d need this after yesterday.” You smiled, and Nanami tried not to stare.

The dress made it impossible. It softened and outlined you at once, drawing his eye to places he had no right lingering on. The privilege of looking like that belonged to a lover, not to him. He was only a friend, after all.

Something low in his stomach tightened, warm and embarrassingly eager, and the fact that you’d remembered his coffee at all nearly undid him right there.

He took the coffee, murmured a thank you, and tried not to linger when your fingers brushed his. Your hands were impossibly soft. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or just doomed to know that now.

A breeze lifted a few loose strands of your hair and let them settle again, and Nanami’s focus tightened so completely on the sight that the rest of the campus seemed to fade around it.

Nanami had just lifted the cup to his mouth when you glanced up at him again, as if the thought had just struck you.

“Are you free later?” you asked. Your tone stayed light, casual enough that someone less invested might have missed the faint edge of hesitation beneath it. “I was thinking… maybe we could grab lunch together. If you want.”

For one suspended second, Nanami forgot the taste of coffee entirely.

Not because the question was scandalous. It was simple. Innocent. Perfectly normal. But coming from you, with that open expression and those soft, careful manners that made everything sound more sincere, it hit him harder than he expected. His pulse kicked against his throat, and sudden anticipation replaced his usual restraint.

He was caught off guard, and for once, he couldn’t hide how much he wanted this, not even from himself.

He had never allowed himself to expect this, not from you, not really. He had already taught himself to be grateful for much less. A few shared minutes, a kind smile, the sound of your voice when you greeted him. So to be asked, plainly and warmly, as though being with him was something you had thought to want, left him momentarily unguarded.

Lunch.

With you.

Alone, if he was lucky.

He lowered the cup with deliberate care, buying himself a second to recover before his face betrayed anything undignified. “Yes,” he said, perhaps a touch too quickly. His mouth tightened, and he corrected himself into something more even.

“I mean—yes. That would be fine.”

Your face brightened at once, the kind of expression that always made him feel as though he’d been given something far too precious for a man like him to handle casually.

"Really? Good! There’s a place I’ve been wanting to try," you said, voice light but with a hesitation that suggested more than casual interest. "I kept putting it off because I didn’t want to go alone."

Of course.

Of course, that was the reason. Nanami hated the small, petty part of himself that had, for a disgracefully hopeful moment, wanted the invitation to mean more. Still, even that was enough. You wanted his company. You had thought of him specifically. That alone was enough to make the ache in his chest ease.

He adjusted his grip on the coffee cup and inclined his head. “Then I’d be happy to accompany you.”

Your smile softened into something warmer, almost shy now that he accepted. “Great. Maybe around one?”

Nanami opened his mouth to answer.

“Aww,” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere at once, bright with manufactured heartbreak. “And here I was thinking you were going to finally ask me on a date instead”

Nanami didn’t flinch outwardly, but something inside him went cold with immediate, familiar dread.

Gojo appeared at your side like a divine punishment, all long limbs and easy arrogance. His sunglasses were perched low enough to show the smug curve of his grin, and one arm draped itself over your shoulders before either of you could stop him.

You gave a small, startled laugh, shifting a little beneath his arm but not quite pulling away. “Gojo. Don’t scare people like that.”

“I don’t scare people,” Gojo said easily. “I delight them. There’s a difference.” Then he looked at you with exaggerated curiosity. “Lunch, huh? Cute. Where are we going?”

Nanami stared at him.

You blinked. “We?”

Gojo nodded as this had already been settled in some higher court. “Yeah, we. Obviously. I was just thinking I should take a proper break today, and now look at this. Fate provides!” He clasped his hands together dramatically. “You two would’ve been so lonely without me.”

Nanami felt the fragile shape of the morning collapsing, second by second. Disappointment hit sharp and fast, his hopes for time alone with you slipping away, chased off by Gojo’s intrusion. Frustration and resignation crowded out the last of his optimism.

“There is no reason for you to come,” he said flatly.

Gojo turned his head, offence painted onto his face with theatrical precision. “Wow. Nanami. That’s harsh. I thought we were colleagues. Friends, even.”

“We are neither.”

You made that tiny sound you always did when caught between amusement and concern.

Nanami knew instantly he’d lost. You were too soft to refuse someone outright, especially when they smiled at you like an overgrown menace who knew exactly how far he could push. Gojo knew it too. Worse, he knew you’d rather inconvenience yourself than risk making anyone feel unwelcome.

“Oh,” you said, glancing between them, “I mean… if you want to come, I guess that’s okay.”

There it was.

Nanami watched as Gojo heard the surrender in your voice and decided to make it worse.

“Perfect,” he said. “See? She likes having me around.”

“I said it was okay,” you corrected gently.

“Which is basically the same thing.”

You gave a tiny pout. “It is not.”

Gojo ignored you entirely and grinned at Nanami like a man twisting a knife with cheerful dedication. “This is nice. A little team bonding. We should do this more often.”

Nanami’s fingers tightened around the paper cup just enough to threaten the lid. Coffee shifted faintly inside it. He had spent years learning composure in life-or-death situations, but apparently all it took to test it now was Satoru Gojo barging into a lunch invitation he had no business attending.

“It was not intended as a group outing,” Nanami said, keeping his voice carefully level.

Gojo gasped. “So it was a date!”

Your eyes widened. “Gojo!”

The shock in your voice was immediate and sincere, and Nanami felt heat rise into his face so quickly it was almost offensive.

Internally, embarrassment clashed with irritation; part of him resented how Gojo could unsettle his composure so effortlessly, while another part baulked at how easily his emotions surfaced despite years of cultivated restraint. Gojo’s words left him feeling exposed, as if he were sixteen again, all awkward anticipation and raw vulnerability.

Externally, he kept his eyes forward with rigid discipline, striving for neutrality even as he sensed your attention on him, likely hoping he would deny Gojo's suggestion and restore a sense of normality.

He should have denied it.

He knew he should have.

Instead, his silence stretched just a fraction too long.

Gojo’s grin sharpened.

You recovered first, laughing a little too quickly, the sound tinged with embarrassment. “It’s not a date. I just asked Nanami to lunch because he looked tired.”

That shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. It shouldn’t have settled warm and miserable under his ribs, but it did. You noticed he was tired. You thought of him.

You had wanted to look after him in some small, gentle way, and Nanami felt himself go weak for it with immediate, private shame. He loved that you cared. He hated that he could not stop wanting it to be something other than pity wrapped in kindness.

Gojo, of course, pounced on the clarification with all the grace of a spoiled cat. “Right. Just lunch. Totally harmless. Then there’s definitely no problem with me joining.”

Nanami looked at him with open dislike now. “You are an adult. Stop behaving like a child.”

Gojo hummed, entirely unbothered. “Say that again, but this time without sounding so territorial.”

For one awful second, silence held.

Heat rose under Nanami’s collar with immediate, concentrated force. He did not look at you. He could not. His jaw tightened instead, fingers shifting once around the coffee cup before stilling again.

Beside them, you blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and dawning embarrassment. “Gojo,” you said, softer this time, like you were not entirely sure whether to laugh or scold him.

Gojo only smiled.

You were already smiling in that helpless way that told Nanami the battle was lost. “It’s fine,” you said softly, smoothing over the argument before it could even start.

“The more the merrier, right?”

No, Nanami thought immediately.

Absolutely not.

But you were looking at him now. That familiar hope in your eyes, a quiet plea for everyone to get along, for no one to make this awkward. You had no idea what you were asking him to endure. Or maybe you did, just a little, and trusted him to be patient anyway.

Nanami exhaled once through his nose. “If that is what you want.”

Gojo beamed at Nanami, insufferably victorious. “See? You love me.”

Nanami turned his gaze back to his coffee.

“I assure you,” he said, “that is not the word I would use.”

You laughed again, quieter this time, and the sound took some of the edge off, even now. Gojo stayed draped at your side like a curse Nanami had never managed to exorcise, while you stood between them, coffee in hand, completely unaware you’d just handed Nanami the best part of his week and let Satoru Gojo ruin it in under thirty seconds.

Still, when you looked back at him and said, “One o’clock, then?” with the same sweet certainty as before, Nanami heard himself answer without hesitation.

“Yes,” he said.

Gojo clapped once. “Amazing! It’s a date for three.”

Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, already regretting being alive.

_

By the time one o’clock came around, Nanami had already spent far too much of the morning trying not to think about it.

It shouldn’t have mattered this much. It was just lunch. A simple meal, nothing more. And yet the thought of sitting with you for an hour, away from the school and everyone else, had settled under his skin with embarrassing persistence.

They found the restaurant modest and narrow, tucked along a side street with fogged front windows and a faded wooden sign above the door. As soon as they entered, they were met by the warm air inside, heavy with the aromas of broth, seared meat, garlic, and toasted sesame.

The steady murmur of conversation merged with the occasional clink of cutlery, chairs scraping softly against the floorboards, and the faint hiss from nearby tabletop grills, establishing an immediate sense of immersion as they entered the space.

The hostess led the three of you to a booth against the wall, a small built-in grill set neatly into the centre of the table. Her eyes lingered on Gojo for a beat too long, and he, shameless as ever, seemed to brighten under it.

Nanami had barely registered its shape before Gojo moved.

“There,” Gojo said lightly, sliding into one side of the booth with shameless ease. He took the inner seat first, then patted the place beside him as though the arrangement had already been decided. “C’mon.”

You hesitated only a second, clearly caught off guard, before sitting beside him with your menu still in hand. That left Nanami with the seat across from both of you.

He sat opposite them, one hand on the table, looking at Gojo with nothing close to warmth. The arrangement was immediate and irritatingly effective: you beside Gojo, Nanami alone, forced to look straight at the two of you together.

Gojo smiled. “This way the table feels balanced.”

“That is not how seating works,” Nanami said.

Gojo waved a hand. “Also, if she sat next to you, she’d have to spend the whole lunch seeing your scary face up close. I’m doing her a favor.”

You let out a small laugh, half-startled, half-amused, and lowered your eyes to the menu.

Nanami said nothing. He only reached for his own.

For a moment, the three of you looked over the menus in relative peace. A server passed nearby, balancing a tray of drinks. Sunlight shifted warmly across the edge of the table. Gojo, unsurprisingly, was the first one to ruin it.

A dramatic sigh came from beside you.

“This menu is too loooong,” he complained. “I don’t want to read all that.”

Nanami did not look up. “Then point at something and hope for the best.”

“That’s irresponsible,” Gojo said. Then, turning immediately to you, “Help me choose.”

You glanced up from your menu. “You can read.”

“I can,” Gojo said. “I just don’t want to.”

There was no way to refuse without sounding sharper than you ever wanted to be, and all three of you knew it. Nanami watched the exact moment you gave in.

You leaned slightly toward Gojo so you could look at what he was pointing at. “What do you usually like?”

“Attention,” Gojo said.

You laughed despite yourself. “Food-wise.”

He tilted the menu toward you, your shoulder angling closer to his as you read through a few things under your breath, considering them properly. Nanami sat across from you both, listening to you explain the meat sets, side dishes, and broth options while Gojo hummed as if your advice were of deep, personal importance.

When your eyes lifted from the page and found Nanami’s, he was already looking at you.

You smiled faintly. “Have you been here before?”

“Yes,” he said.

That seemed to catch your attention immediately. “Really?”

“Once.”

Gojo glanced up from the menu. “Hm. Doesn’t feel expensive enough to be one of your date spots.”

Nanami looked at him.

For one brief second, the table went quieter than the rest of the restaurant. Across from him, your attention had sharpened too much to be casual now, and Nanami hated how quickly he noticed. Hated even more the small, desperate spark of hope it lit in him.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said.

The answer came too quickly to sound indifferent.

“I mean, I wasn’t here with anyone.”

Gojo’s grin deepened. “That was fast.”

Nanami ignored him, but not before he caught the faint change in your expression, the quiet, almost involuntary easing that followed his answer.

Your reaction should not have meant anything. It probably didn’t. But Nanami, already too far gone to protect himself from it, felt the warmth of that tiny reaction settle somewhere far deeper than it had any right to.

The server returned to take your order.

You went first, choosing a lighter set after a moment of consideration, then second-guessing whether it would be enough once the server mentioned the portion size.

Gojo changed his mind halfway through ordering and then asked two unnecessary questions before settling on something he would probably have chosen anyway. Nanami added a larger shared meat platter, extra vegetables, and another side without making a point of it, as though he were simply being practical.

Once the server left, you turned to Gojo with a smile that still carried traces of laughter. “Happy now?”

Gojo looked pleased with himself. “Very.”

“You made me read half the menu to you.”

“And you did beautifully.”

You laughed under your breath and shook your head, finally lifting your glass.

Across from you, Nanami stayed silent. He watched the effortless way you slipped into Gojo’s rhythm, the familiarity of it sharper now that he had nowhere else to look. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Gojo was like this with everyone, careless, charming, impossible to shut out. Still, it was deeply irritating to watch that attention settle on you so easily.

“You are so insufferable,” Nanami said at last, not able to contain it.

Gojo grinned. “And yet you keep me around.”

Nanami did not answer.

A quiet settled after that, brief but real. Your hand rested near your water glass. Nanami’s attention caught on it, then moved back to your face when you spoke.

“So,” you said, “why only once?”

He held your gaze. “I was working at the time.”

Your expression shifted, turning softer. “So you didn’t really get to enjoy it.”

“No.”

“That’s a little sad.”

Something in the way you said it almost pulled a smile from him. Maybe because you were right. Maybe because, sitting across from you now, the memory no longer felt quite as bleak. He was well over that stage in his life.

Before he could answer, Gojo suddenly pushed back from the booth.

“I’m getting another drink,” he announced. “Don’t get too attached while I’m gone.”

You made a small sound, half a laugh, half embarrassment, as he slipped out of the booth and disappeared between the tables toward the front counter.

Nanami watched him go, then looked back at you.

At last, the booth felt right.

You on one side, him on the other. Gojo was gone, even if only for a moment, and the interruption finally lifted enough for the silence to become something else.

You looked down for a second, then back up at him. “I’m glad you still came,” you said quietly. “I thought you might decide not to, once Gojo made himself part of it.”

Nanami’s gaze stayed on you.

“I considered it,” he said.

Your eyes widened a little, not offended, just surprised.

Then he added, before the expression could settle wrong, “But you asked me.”

Something about that made you go still. Not dramatically. Just enough for him to notice.

“I’m glad,” you said.

His fingers shifted once against the side of his glass. “So am I.”

That one landed. He saw it in the way your expression changed, in the way your mouth parted just slightly before you smiled. It was small, but not casual. For one brief moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to recede around the edges.

Then Gojo returned.

He slid back into the booth with a fresh drink in hand and looked between the two of you immediately, far too observant for a man who behaved like an idiot on purpose.

“Oh, that’s nasty,” he said. “You two were having a moment.”

“We were not,” Nanami said.

Gojo set his drink down. “Sure.”

The food arrived soon after, sparing you from having to answer.

The server set down plate after plate between you, thin slices of marinated beef and pork, mushrooms, onions, greens, small dishes of sauces, rice, and a pot kept hot at the edge of the grill. The heat rose at once, carrying the richer smell of seasoned meat into the space between you.

You looked at it all with immediate interest, then at the grill. “I’ve never been very good at these,” you admitted.

Nanami had already reached for the tongs. “That’s fine.”

He said it simply, like there was nothing to think about, and laid the first slices onto the grill with practised ease. The meat hissed the moment it came in contact with the heat. He kept his eyes on it, turning one piece, shifting another aside before it caught too much colour, moving with the quiet certainty of someone who preferred competence to conversation.

Gojo, naturally, noticed that too.

“Oh, this is disgusting,” he said. “He’s cooking for you.”

Nanami did not look up. “I am cooking lunch.”

“For her.”

“For the table.”

You smiled down at your plate, already visibly warmer in the face.

Nanami moved the first finished pieces onto your plate before serving himself. He did it without flourish, without hesitation, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to make sure you ate first.

Gojo made a low, delighted noise. “And he serves you first. Incredible.”

You looked up quickly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Nanami said.

Gojo glanced from your plate to the grill. “Interesting. Hers is done, and mine is still fighting for its life over there.”

Nanami turned one of Gojo’s slices without urgency. “Then keep an eye on it.”

Gojo looked offended. “Oh, so now I have to grill my own food?”

Nanami finally glanced at him. “You were born with hands and are fully capable of feeding yourself.”

“And yet you’re not making her do that.”

You made a tiny sound, somewhere between embarrassment and a laugh, and immediately lowered your gaze again.

Nanami moved another finished piece onto your plate. “That’s because she’s being pleasant.”

Nanami ignored him and reached for the vegetables next, adding a few to the grill before glancing at your plate. You had taken one bite and immediately reached for water.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Too hot?”

“A little,” you admitted, almost embarrassed by it.

Without comment, he nudged one of the less heavily seasoned pieces from the edge of the grill onto a cleaner spot, letting it cook more lightly before placing it on your plate. “Try that.”

You did.

Your face softened almost at once. “Oh. That’s better.”

Something in his chest eased.

Gojo leaned back. “That was terrifyingly attentive.”

Then he reached for one of his own pieces, took a bite, and immediately paused.

Nanami glanced up just long enough to see that the edge of it had gone too dark.

Gojo chewed once, slow and offended. “Fantastic. Hers gets adjusted to her exact preferences and mine gets cremated.”

You laughed into your glass. It was small, but real, and Nanami found the sound dangerously rewarding.

After that, the meal developed its own steady rhythm. The hiss of the grill punctuated quiet moments, while steam curled upward between you in soft, transient spires. Throughout, Nanami kept a hand poised near the tongs, steadily turning pieces before they overcooked, shifting food from the hottest points, and handing items over whenever you reached just a second too late.

Though his actions might have appeared careful and intentional, his attentiveness soon ceased to feel conscious at all. Around you, he found that care became an instinct, one that revealed itself easily enough to verge on embarrassing.

Each time Nanami performed a quiet act of consideration, Gojo immediately drew attention to it, treating these moments like a spectacle. Whether Nanami passed you the soy dish or substituted a milder side when you hesitated over something spicy, Gojo responded theatrically, accusing him of being excessively attentive.

Then, at some point, without seeming to realize he was doing it, Nanami had arranged the grill accordingly. The milder cuts stayed nearest your side. The hotter pieces were turned away from you. Anything that spat too much oil somehow ended up on Gojo’s half of the table instead.

Gojo gradually stopped eating.

He looked down at the grill.

Then at your side of it.

Then at his own.

For a second, he said nothing at all, which was unsettling enough on its own.

“…Nanami,” he said at last.

Nanami glanced up. “What?”

Gojo pointed vaguely with his chopsticks, looking genuinely affronted now. “Why is her side all manageable and mine looks like a punishment?”

You broke first.

The laugh slipped out fast enough that you had to set your chopsticks down, shoulders curling inward around it. Nanami felt heat climb under his collar almost immediately.

Gojo looked at you, then back at the table like the evidence had only become more damning. “No, seriously. She’s got the easy cuts, the safe pieces, the civilised side of the grill” His eyes narrowed at Nanami. “You gave me the splatter zone!”

Nanami stared at him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being neglected!” Gojo corrected.

That only made you laugh harder.

Nanami sat there, humiliated and helpless, realizing he would endure worse than this if it meant keeping that sound in the air.

By the time the plates were cleared, you looked relaxed in that soft, post-meal way people only did when they’d been fed properly and laughed more than they meant to. Nanami almost managed to salvage something of the outing for himself through that alone.

Then the check came.

He reached for it without hesitation. It was natural. Quiet, simple, unremarkable if handled right. He had no intention of making a display. He only wanted to spare you the trouble.

Unfortunately, Gojo possessed the instincts of a saboteur.

“Oho,” Gojo said, leaning back as soon as Nanami reached for the check. “There it is.”

You looked up at once. “Nanami, you really don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, already taking out his wallet.

Gojo smiled at you over the table. “See? This is how it starts.”

Nanami’s gaze stayed on the bill. “Don’t.”

“What?” Gojo asked. “You ask him to lunch, he pays before you can argue.”

Your face warmed. “It’s just lunch.”

“Exactly,” Gojo said. “That’s the dangerous kind.”

“If you’re done embarrassing yourself, I’d prefer not to listen to you narrate basic manners.”

Gojo’s eyes lit at once. “Basic manners?”

Nanami already looked like he regretted phrasing it that way. “Yes.”

Gojo leaned back, delighted. “Right. So if I asked you to lunch tomorrow, just the two of us, you’d pay for me too?”

That landed.

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Nanami’s expression hardened. “No.”

Gojo smiled, satisfied. “See? Now we’re being honest.”

Nanami could feel the server hovering just close enough to hear all of this, which made it worse in a way he hadn’t thought possible five seconds ago. He took out his wallet with the resignation of a man being publicly executed in stages.

You looked mortified on his behalf now, which should have helped and somehow didn’t. “Nanami,” you said softly, “really, I can pay for myself.”

He looked at you then, properly, and his voice dropped despite himself. “I know you can.”

Something in your expression shifted. Not flustered this time, not because of Gojo, but because he’d answered you seriously. Your fingers, reaching for your bag, paused.

Then he finished, because anything softer would have been a mistake. “But I offered.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than before. “...Thank you.”

Gojo looked between the two of you and made a face like a man witnessing his favorite drama reach a critical point. “Disgusting,” he said. “You’re both being very weird about lunch.”

Nanami handed over the bill without looking at him.

The server failed to suppress a smile.

Chairs scraped lightly over the floorboards as other tables rose to leave. The front door opened and shut often enough now that the warmth inside no longer held steady. Every few minutes, a cooler draft slipped in from the street and moved through the room before fading again.

You reached for your bag and shifted in the booth, only for the tight space to make the movement awkward. Gojo was still half in the way, stretched lazily along the outer edge like he had never once in his life considered moving efficiently for someone else’s sake.

Nanami stood at once.

He stepped in without making much of it and offered you a hand. The gesture was simple, practical, but when you placed your hand in his and let him guide you out of the booth, the contact still landed harder than it should have. Your fingers were soft in his again. Warm. He let go as soon as you were steady.

Then the front door opened behind you.

A draft moved through the restaurant and caught at the bare skin of your arms. You drew them in a little, not dramatically, just on instinct, before letting them fall again.

Nanami noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His eyes dropped there for one brief second. Your arms. The lighter fabric of your dress. The cold coming in each time the door opened. The thought followed so quickly that it barely felt like one.

He should give you his suit jacket.

His hand lifted a fraction toward the front of it.

Gojo caught the movement at once.

“Oh, wow,” he said, smiling as though Christmas had come early. “You were really considering it.”

Nanami looked at him. “Considering what.”

“The jacket.”

You went still beside him.

Nanami’s expression did not change, but he could feel the moment sharpen around the three of you. “You are making assumptions.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “That’s not a no.”

“I did not realize I was required to answer nonsense.”

You looked between them, warmth creeping into your face. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, even though your hands had brushed lightly over your own arms a second earlier.

Nanami glanced at you.

Gojo made a soft, disbelieving sound. “You’re both making this incredibly easy for me.”

“Gojo,” you said, trying and failing to sound firm through the embarrassment.

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Nanami stepped aside then, one hand indicating the aisle. “We’re leaving.”

You moved first. Gojo followed, still far too pleased with himself, and Nanami came after you both with the distinct feeling that the last thirty seconds had done more damage than the entire lunch.

Outside, the afternoon looked warmer than it felt. Sunlight lay across the pavement, but the breeze moving between the buildings had sharpened. People passed in uneven clusters along the street, and every time the wind turned the corner it caught at hems, sleeves, loose hair.

Gojo stretched as though he had done something exhausting instead of tormenting him for an hour and a half.

“That was nice,” you said, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder. “I’m glad we still went.”

Nanami looked at you. There was still some leftover warmth in your face from inside, but now that you were standing in the open air, the breeze was getting to you properly. You were trying not to show it. He could tell.

Gojo could too, apparently, because he glanced between the two of you and went suspiciously quiet for half a second. That alone was enough to make Nanami wary.

You tucked a strand of hair back and laughed softly at something Gojo muttered under his breath, but the next gust of wind made your shoulders pull in again before you seemed to catch yourself.

That was enough.

Nanami reached for his suit jacket in an instant.

You noticed immediately. “Nanami—”

He had already slipped it off.

The movement was simple, practiced, but it changed him at once. Without the jacket, the dark dress shirt beneath sat closer to him than you were prepared for, fitted cleanly across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves drawn neatly over forearms that somehow looked stronger now that nothing softened the line of them.

He had always looked put together. Controlled. But this was worse. More real somehow. Less buffered by tailoring. Sharp and quietly masculine in a way that made your thoughts catch.

“It’s colder out here than it looked,” he said, like this was the only reason and the matter was too ordinary to argue with.

Your eyes widened just a little.

Not only because of the tan suit jacket in his hands, but also because you were now looking at him properly and finding it difficult to stop.

The shirt pulled just enough when he lifted the coat that it made the strength in his build impossible to miss. Clean lines.

“You don’t have to—”

Nanami stepped closer and lifted the jacket, settling it around your shoulders in one smooth motion. He was careful with it. Careful with your hair, careful not to let his hands linger longer than necessary, careful in all the ways that mattered and not at all in the way that counted, because the second the fabric rested on you, the intimacy of it became impossible to ignore.

The jacket was too large on you, obviously his in every line. The sleeves swallowed your hands. The faint warmth left in the lining and the trace of his cologne wrapped around you at once, and for one mortifying second, you pressed the collar a little closer without thinking.

Nanami’s gaze caught on the movement immediately.

Nearby, Gojo had fallen silent in the most alarming way possible, already tapping at his phone.

You went still before regaining some composure.

Your fingers rose to the lapels, pulling them a little closer around yourself. “Thank you,” you said, and your voice had gone quieter too. Not just polite. Aware.

Nanami inclined his head once, as though this were nothing. As though his pulse had not kicked harder the moment he saw you standing inside something that belonged to him.

He had caught it, or at least, he hoped he had. The small, unconscious draw of the collar toward your nose. You had noticed the scent of him in the fabric, and some humiliating, hopeless part of him lit up at once.

Worse, he found himself clinging to it, to the possibility that you had liked it enough to hold it there for that extra second.

“It suits you,” Gojo said.

“Gojo,” Nanami said.

“What? It does.”

You laughed under your breath, then glanced up at Nanami through the lingering warmth in your face. “I really was alright.”

“I know,” he said again.

There was a brief pause.

Gojo looked between the two of you like a man witnessing a private event he had no business attending.

You smiled, ducking your face for a second into the collar of Nanami’s jacket. The motion was shy enough to feel unintentional. It nearly finished him off where he stood.

You adjusted the sleeves of Nanami’s jacket, then looked up at him with that shy, softened expression that had already done enough damage.

Gojo made a strangled sound beside you, like he was physically suffering through the sight of it. “This is obscene.”

Neither of you looked at him.

Which, unfortunately, gave him exactly the opening he wanted.

There was a faint click.

Nanami’s head turned at once.

Gojo had his phone half-lifted in one hand, already grinning down at the screen. “Oh, that’s awful,” he said, sounding delighted. “You look ridiculously cute in his jacket.”

You blinked. “Did you just take a picture?”

“Maybe.”

“Gojo.”

His thumb moved across the screen once, twice.

Nanami’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

A second later, yours did too.

The silence that followed lasted only a beat before Gojo’s grin widened into something openly smug. Nanami did not need to check. The exact same thought had clearly occurred to you, because the moment your phone buzzed again, your face changed.

“Gojo,” you said again, this time with horrified certainty. “You didn’t.”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “What? It was a good photo.”

Nanami took out his phone anyway, more out of grim confirmation than curiosity. He looked down once, expression flattening further, then locked the screen without a word.

That was enough to make you glance at your own.

The second you did, your face went warm all over again. You made a small sound somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief, and immediately lowered the phone, as if that might undo the fact that the picture was no longer sitting privately on Gojo’s screen but in the group chat, where the students could tear it apart at their leisure.

Gojo, naturally, looked thrilled.

Both your phones buzzed again.

Then again.

Neither of you checked this time.

Nanami slipped his phone back into his pocket with the measured restraint of a man seconds away from violence. “Delete it.”

“Can’t,” Gojo said easily. “People are clearly engaging.”

“That is not how consent works,” you muttered, still trying not to look too mortified.

Gojo put a hand to his chest. “You wound me. I captured a beautiful candid moment.”

Nanami stared at him. “You are intolerable.”

“And yet,” Gojo said, glancing at you bundled in Nanami’s jacket, “I’m the only reason this memory now exists in high definition.”

That, somehow, was what finally made you laugh.

It slipped out before you could stop it, small, embarrassed, helpless, and the moment you realised, your hand flew to your mouth. You were still warm in the face, still half-hidden in Nanami’s jacket, still smiling despite yourself.

Gojo pointed between the two of you, as if he had just proven something scientifically. “See? Not a single real complaint.”

“I am complaining,” Nanami said.

“No, you’re humiliated. Different.”

Another buzz vibrated from his pocket. Then yours.

You closed your eyes briefly. “I’m never opening that chat again.”

Gojo looked delighted. “That bad, huh?”

Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. “Leave.”

For once, Gojo seemed to recognise he had pushed the moment exactly as far as it could go without being physically removed from it.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go. Try not to make it even more obvious on the walk back.”

“Gojo,” both of you said at once.

That only made him laugh harder. Then Gojo threw an arm around both of your shoulders from behind.

“Great lunch,” he announced. “Next time let’s do dinner.”

“There will be no next time,” Nanami said immediately. You laughed again, warm and helpless between them, and Nanami, against all reason, knew he’d remember the sound of it for the rest of the evening.

He turned and sauntered off, still far too pleased with himself, while behind him both of your phones buzzed yet again.

Neither of you reached for them.

The silence he left behind felt completely different from the ones before, warmer, heavier, and somehow more embarrassing now that there was no third person there to absorb any of it.

You adjusted the lapel of Nanami’s jacket with quiet fingers and glanced up at him. “I think he’s going to be unbearable about this.”

“He already is.”

That made you smile.

This time, when the breeze moved through the street again, you pulled the jacket a little closer around yourself instead of pretending not to need it.

Nanami noticed that too.

By the time you parted, the absence of his coat had taken on a life of its own.

The wind through his shirt should have meant nothing, but it kept reminding him where his suit jacket was, wrapped around your shoulders, carrying your warmth in its lining, marked now by the impossible privilege of having belonged to you for an afternoon.

He knew that when he got it back, it would never feel the same.

Nanami realized, with the kind of certainty that made resistance useless, that it had just become his favorite coat, and that he was hopelessly, irretrievably gone.

[barbieandkento]

UH HELLO?!?!?! THIS AS A FIRST FIC IS INSANEEEE

7k of nanami fluff life is good 🥺🙈

[barbieandkento]

Laptop got a brand new keyboard and the guy even cleaned the fan + fixed the hinges so my laptop feels BRAND NEW

Can finally write fanfics without worrying again 😌🤟🙈

[barbieandkento]

"i looked for you in every guy i dated"

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: you're the extroverted, popular, hopeless romantic with a new boyfriend every week. nanami's the quiet, study obsessed, no-nonesense star student. it makes no sense that you two are best friends. and maybe even less sense that he's devastatingly, and obviously (to all but you), in love with you. 10 years is too late for anything to happen... right?

tags: best friends to lovers; college!AU; down bad!nanami x slightly ditzy!popular r

word count: 8.5k+ words

the footballer

nanami thinks his name is jackson.

or tyler.

or it could be brock, now that nanami really thinks about it, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust when the footballer’s sweaty arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you into a hug. the screams from the thousands of students in the stands from all around him is defeaning, but it's drowned out by the piercing white noise echoing in his ears as he sees your smile widen at your boyfriend's gesture.

and it genuinely takes every bone in nanami’s body to not flinch at the sight, the beer suddenly tasting bitter on his tongue, as yet another man spins you around in a circle and kisses you sugar sweet.

“i think he’s number thirty two.”

shoko, your roommate and mutual friend to you and Nanami, breaks into his thoughts with a wry smile on her lips. even through the roaring of the crowd and blur of red and white on the field, as fans and athletes alike crowd the field and celebrate, he swears he can only ever see you. it’s as if the stadium lights are pulled back, the harsh white lighting fading into a solo stage light focused purely on you, the football jersey worn like a dress reaching your knees, the face paint being smudged by how widely you’re smiling and-

your boyfriend kissing it off of you. right.

forcing his eyes away from the sight, nanami stares down at shoko, confused.

“thirty two what?”

“the 32nd boyfriend of the year.”

it’s no secret that you have a new boyfriend almost every week. shoko’s been the victim of waking up to a new masculine face in the living room every fortnight, of having to awkwardly smile and nod along as they awkwardly try and make small talk and talk her ear off about how great you are.

“i don’t know how you do it sometimes.” she chuckles, wiping the bottom of her lip with her lipstick. “like, i love her, but can’t she pick better guys?”

nanami purses his lips, nodding grimly.

“agreed.”

if Shoko’s had to stand by the sidelines of another romantic escapade of yours every week for the past year, nanami’s had to deal with it for ten.  because the moment you two had become project partners on a political sciences class in high school – him, the quiet school valedictorian with a no-nonsense attitude and you, the effervescent and outgoing cheerleader with the energy of a golden retriever – you two had clicked. best friends ever since. the kind that allows each other to sleep over without questions asked, to have each other as their emergency contacts, the kind that people always associate as being together no matter what.

where you are, nanami goes. and vice versa.

even to stupid football games that nanami couldn’t care less about.

“do you remember his name? i swear she introduced us to him only a few days ago and i already-  shit here they come.”

“nami!!!! shoko!!! did you guys see that final tackle? wasn’t it amazing!”

you’re practically a rolling ball of energy, wide smiles and jumping up and down as jackson – nanami thinks – grins down at you cockily, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s no big deal.

“all in a day’s work, babe.”

“it’s seriously so impressive, i don’t know how you manage to do it so fast.”

“i can try and teach you if you want, gorgeous.”

shoko gags behind the man’s back, causing nanami to nearly laugh out loud as he lets out a forced cough to conceal his laughter. A tight lipped smile is forced through gritted teeth, his fingers curling around his red solo cup of beer tighter.

“you’re both coming to the after party, right?” you finally break away from 'tyler was it?' nanami thinks, to tug at nanami’s shirt. you very well know nanami isn’t part of the party crowd at all, much preferring to have done his skincare routine and be in bed by 10pm, but you also know that he can’t ever say no to you when you tug his sleeve and ask him in your prettiest voice. your best friend groans at you, face contorting in pain.

“do we have to?”

“oh come on, pleaseeeeeee.” you bat your eyelashes at him for good measure. “dylan’s team literally just won the semi-finals, we have to be celebrate.”

“okay fine yeah, we’ll be there.” shoko interjects, as dylan whispers something in your ear and then pulls you away to another crowd. you wave at them as you’re being dragged away, yelling out a thank you, before your words dissolve into giggles at the way dylan drags you into another messy kiss.

“god he’s obnoxious.” shoko shudders. a pause. “did you know his name was dylan? I swear it was nick.”

“i thought he was a jackson or tyler.” nanami responds dryly, causing shoko to snort into her cup. he pretends not to notice dylan’s arms still locked tightly around your waist from the corner of his eyes, the realisation that he’s going to have to watch all that – and worse – for however long the god awful party goes on for. he hates those parties. frats aren’t his crowd, neither are sticky floors full of beer and half-eaten burger wrappers and the smell of sweaty bodies mixing with alcohol. but he bears it.

for you.

for the smile you give him like the one right now, eyes slightly hazy but still you, irises flashing red and blue from the disco ball hanging up ahead, a high cut dress flowing down your knees and hugging your waist just perfectly. you smell like vanilla and jasmine when you lean in, your hands are so warm in his when you tug him to the side and insist that he tries out a cocktail that you just tried mixing.

“you know I hate sweet drinks, sunshine.”

you don’t notice it, and neither does Nanami as he’s smiling down at you, but dylan overhears nanami’s comment from a few feet away and pauses his conversation.

you just laugh at the blonde, pouting.

“nami…. how long are you going to call me that? we’re not 14 anymore.”

“as long as you call me nami.”

“boo, you’re no fun.” you stick your tongue out at him, making him playfully roll his eyse.

“and yet you still keep me around.” he challenges, brushing his shoulder against yours in a playful manner.

you giggle, nodding in agreement.

“fine. maybe I do like it when you call me sunshine.”

one moment you’re giggling over fruity cocktails with your best friend on a linel top kitchen counter, and the next, you feel someone’s cold hand grab your wrist and yank you to the side. it’s dylan, his face pulled into a tight expression that you can’t quite read, as he forces out a fake smile at nanami.

“babe, can we talk for a second?”

“yeah sure, what’d you-“

“alone.” the athlete snaps, with enough poison that would’ve made almost anyone else flinch, but you don’t seem to mind. instead, you slowly handing off your unfinished cup to nanami and whisper that you’d be right back with a small wink as you depart. nanami hates the feeling of watching you go, the dread sitting heavy in his stomach at the way dylan stares daggers into his back whilst escorting you away from the crowd, the overwhelming smell of axe cologne still lingering in absence.

A few minutes stretch into ten and then half an hour, and nanami decides to drain both of your drinks in the kitchen sink before rushing to go find you. it doesn’t take long before he hears sniffling coming from a locked bathroom, and when he knocks, he hears your broken voice from the other side of the door saying it’s occupied.

“sunshine, it’s nanami. can… can you let me in?”

when you unlock the door for him, your dress is bunched up to your waist as you’re sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest in the bath tub. mascara smudged, lipstick a mess from where you’ve rubbed your arm against your face, you look like a completely different picture from the glittering life of the party smiling up at him just an hour ago.

he immediately drops to his knees, his hands carefully cradling your cheeks.

“oh no, what happened?”

“dylan broke up with me.”        

“what?”

“h-he said-“ you’re hiccupping through each word, a sob threatening to break through your sentence as you dry heave and try and contain yourself. nanami continues to rub circles into your skin, as you attempt to calm yourself down enough to respond. “he’s been seeing other girls anyways and he has no use for me anymore.”

“he said that?” nanami’s jaw clenches so tight with anger, he sees red. “why all of a sudden?”

“he said it’s only fair that he cheats on me if i'm cheating on him with you.”

nanami stares back at you, stunned.

“a-and I-I told him, that you and i are just best friends, really good friends of ten years, but he didn’t buy it. he got really pissy about you calling me ‘sunshine’ and insisted that I’ve been sleeping with you behind his back and-“

you burst into tears again, and this time, nanami physically climbs into the bath tub to hold you in his arms. the rage simmering inside him is unbearable, but nothing compared to the amount of sadness he feels from seeing you fall apart.

“you don’t deserve him. At all. You hear me?” he whispers over and over again into your skin, kissing your forehead. “i'm sorry he did that to you. he’s a fucking asshole.”

“shoko always said that whenever he’d leave.” you laugh bitterly, and nanami’s chest rumbles in agreement. “i.... i wanna go home.”

it’s silent, but comforting, as nanami keeps his hand on yours to lead you out the party, and still holds your hand as he drives you back to your apartment. he pulls out the spare key to your apartment from his wallet, walks over to the closet to lay out your pajamas for you as you wipe off your makeup in the bathroom, and fetches you a glass of water with tylenol for tomorrow’s headache.

“can you… can you stay until I fall asleep? Like old times?”

you look so frail, so delicate, asking him to stay. his heart aches, and he nods, pulling out a book to read whilst staying by your side. just the knowledge of the fact that nanami is sitting by your bedside is enough to calm your racing heart and you eventually lull into a dreamless sleep, chest falling and rising in steady breaths. it's only then that he pulls the blanket over your shoulders, smiles at your sleeping figure, and quietly closes the bedroom door.

the whole drive back to his place, he thinks of that image of you sleeping and how he’d like to see it every night.

the teaching assistant

two weeks later, nanami is waiting for you to come out of your american literature  class to go for lunch together. as students trickle out of the cramped classroom one by one, he peeks into the small window pane of the classroom door to see the teaching assistant standing a little too close for comfort whilst speaking to you. what surprises nanami even more is that you don’t seem to mind, if anything, you lean in closer, whispering something in the taller man’s ear that makes nanami’s skin prickle with jealousy.

he must’ve been staring a bit too hard because the next thing he knows you turn and your eyes meet his, and you wave at him with a friendly smile that nanami is forced to return. he gets a good look at the teaching assistant then – very different build from dylan, tall and lanky instead of muscular and boyish. pressed polo shirt, hard shoes, a quiet arrogance starkly different from dylan’s loud boastfulness.

nanami has to give it to you, you certainly never choose the same type of guys twice.

“hey! have you been waiting a long time?” you ask him good naturedly, completely oblivious to the firestorm of emotions nanami is experiencing on the inside when you walk out. it doesn’t escape him that when your phone screen flashes ever so slightly with a new text message notification, there’s someone named “evan” with a heart emoji next to his name, texting you three times in a row about “how impressive” your essay was and asking for a “coffee date to pick your brain.”

“not at all. just got here. are you, uh, ready to go?” nanami forcse out, each syllable dripping with restrained jealousy that pierces his skin like nails.

“yep!” you just cheerfully agree, linking your arms with his, completely oblivious to how miserable nanami is feeling.

no, instead, you talk his ear off about the new assignment in your class, some 18th century gothic romance that you’re having to write a paper on, and nanami really tries to pay attention, he really does, but his mind can’t help but stay with this new evan guy. you seemed so heartbroken about dylan, but you couldn’t help it he supposed – you were a romantic. the textbook definition of a hopeless romantic, perhaps. the kind that read romance books back to back, cried at the end of heartfelt movies, cooed at seeing grand gestures of love in public.

and just like any hopeless romantic, it meant you fell in love. quickly.

and got hurt just as quickly as well.

staring at you now, a full ten years later – still beautiful, still just as soft, still just as hopeless at romance from when you were the far too popular yet grounded 14 year old cheerleader begging him to come to your birthday party – he wonders if you know that he’s loved you all these years.

“i mean, isn’t that just crazy, that he decides a life without his love isn’t worth living anymore? to be that consumed by someone, that obsessed with loving someone to the point of sacrifice?” you're still talking about the book you've been assigned to read, the one with the title that nanami now can't seem to remember.

“isn't that what you want?” he asks, sincerely.

you pause at that slightly, humming quietly.

“i don’t… think so. sounds exhausting.” you sigh, chuckling. “it’s more so the intensity of it all. it is kind of romantic to love someone that badly, though i don’t think that means someone shouldn’t live anymore, you know? what do you think, nami?”

you're looking up with him with those doe eyes that makes his cheeks flush again.

“i agree that it’s excessive.” he responds carefully, pulling the café door open for you. it’s teeming with fellow students and his shoulders brush up against yours as you stand side by side in line, your eyes narrowing in on the menu up ahead.

“though i guess loving loudly, that passionately, all-or-nothing... it is quite romantic, don’t you think?”

it’s more of a throwaway question for you, probably, as you’re more focused on attempting to read the small print of the café’s menu up ahead than looking straight at nanami. but the question hits like a bullet to his chest, a concealed confession dangling on the edge of his lips, before he shakes the silly thought away with a nervous gulp.

“i think love can be... quiet, instead.”

that seems to catch your attention.

“what’d you mean by that?” you ask, turning your head with a quisitive expression.

he shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“i just mean… a lot of these romance books and romantic movies paint love as being this loud, overly extravagant, public form of expression where every stranger in a two mile radius sees that you love that person or whatnot. but I think real love, the act of true devotion and caring for someone so deeply that they’re the first person you think of when you wake up and the last person you think of before you sleep... that can be, and often is, much more quiet."

a nervous freshman rushing to class nearly bumps into you with his hot coffee in hand, but not before nanami gently pulls you backwards, his hand pressing softly against your skin.

"because it’s in the small things where the love shows up. making coffee for them in the morning. holding their hand when they’re nervous. sitting in silence when times are tough.”

you blink up at your best friend, genuinely taken back at his sincerity, his low tone so soft and sweet, until the barista calls “next” and breaks you out of your trance.

after placing your orders, you drag Nanami to the side, eyes wide as saucers. his hand is still on your back, but neither of you comment on it.

“woah. since when did you become the romantic in our friendship, nami?”

“i learn a few things from being around you.” he chooses to say instead, slowly dropping his hand from where he realizes it's been sitting for the past 5 minutes, because it’s easier to say than the truth.

that seems to placate you enough, your eyes glistening with excitement when your name is called and the sun hits your hairline perfectly from this angle.

“hm, want to have lunch outside on the bench? it’s so nice to-“

your phone buzzes, loudly, and you take it without hesitation.

“hello? oh my gosh, did I? i’ll be right there." you pull your phone away from your face with an apologetic expression. "i’m so sorry nami, apparently i left my binder in class and i need it for next week’s homework. catch you later?”

the sweet taste in his mouth fades into bitterness at the realization that you’re going back to the god damn classroom where evan will no doubt be, and perhaps, you’ll even choose to have lunch there with him instead.

“y-yeah. catch you later.” nanami forces out his response, waving you away.

sighing, nanami barely has an appetite and eventually folds up his sandwich for later. because all he can think about now is how evan is probably pressing up against you right now, putting his hands on your skin and impressing you with his stupid literature knowledge-

and nanami’s gut feeling, turns out, to be correct.

because not even a week later you’re asking geto if you can “bring someone new” to the board game night at geto's place, with shoko letting out a tight lipped sigh and gojo’s eyes flaring up in intrigue in response. the white haired man’s teasing question of “is he hot” gets quieted with a big slap to the back of his head by shoko and an uncomfortable cough by nanami.

board game night, turns out, to be incredibly awkward. first, evan – the teaching assistant’s name was evan after all nanami confirms – purses his lips in disapproval when cards against humanity is the first game that is suggested. “a bit too vulgar for our age, don’t you think?” he huffs, practically deflating the atmosphere of the room in one go. next, he barely participates. he’s the one to force the room into playing uno, but most the time when it’s not his turn he refuses to talk to anyone else in the room and just rubs your knees. the final blow is when the group is playing monopoly, and you’re clearly getting into it, diligently counting each of your bills and trying to negotiate with gojo for more territory, and he picks up a call in the middle of the game. speaking loudly, and when the person on the other side if he’s busy, he chuckles and responds that he’s “not doing anything important.”

your usually sweet eyes blaze red, and nanami has to hide his satisfied smirk at what's to come.

“That’s it.” you yell, throwing down your monopoly pieces and getting up in a flash. Gojo freezes in fear, whilst geto and shoko grin a cheshire cat’s grin, knowing where this is going. you may look – and act – all sweet and sugary, but when you were pissed off…

that was a different story.

you snatch the phone out of evan’s hand and forcefully hang up the call. evan tries to complain, opening his mouth to ask what your problem is, but you jab a perfectly manicured finger onto his chest first.

“no, what the fuck is your problem, evan? first you beg me not to go see my friends  for our monthly board game night even though you know it means a lot to me. then you insist you come along because “a bunch of guys will be there,” only for you to not take any of the games seriously and not even try to talk to any of my friends. and now you want to act like you’re too important for monopoly?”

the man blinks at you, genuinely shocked at your sudden change in tone and demeanour, whilst nanami tries miserably to hide his laughter. you look even cuter when you’re angry, he thinks, because of the way your face scrunches up in frustration.

“i-it’s just monopoly.” evan weakly retorts.

gojo lets out an exaggerated gasp at that, clutching his chest dramatically. your face drops into a completely unimpressed, monotone expression as you shove him backwards.

“that’s it. out.” you order, pointing at the door. evan looks at you bewildered, unmoving, but your scowl only deepens. “i mean it, dude. out.”

“…will I at least see you tomorrow?” he attempts, meekly.

you scoff.

“yeah for class because I don’t want to fucking fail. but I will be blocking you on everything and ignoring you if you try and talk to me.”

you practically walk him to the front door and demand he put his shoes on, before opening the door and glaring at him to walk through it. you slam the door in his face before he can say anything, and shoko hoots from behind you in triumph.

“go (y/n)!”

“damn, I always forget how fucking scary you are when you’re angry.” gojo lets out a low whistle, pretending to shake off chills from his skin.

“anyways, where were we?” you’re back to your sickeningly sweet grin, your feet brushing against nanami’s as you stretch your legs forward and sit back down. “thanks for holding my pieces, nami.” you whisper into his ear, nudging him.

“anytime.”

“hm…. What’d I do without you?”

Shoko catches nanami’s eyes from over your shoulder and winks, and nanami prays you can’t see how red his cheeks get as your face pushes into his shoulder.

“Implode, probably.”

“hey!”

“just kidding.”

The singer

it's your idea to go to a local dive bar on a Tuesday, despite nanami’s repeated protests of going out on a school night.

you softly launch the question over text, because on Tuesdays you’re on one side of campus and he’s on the complete other side.

“hey 😝😜 wanna go to scarlet heaven tonight? Ο(=•ω＜=)ρ⌒☆”

“aren’t you supposed to be paying attention in your criminal litigation class?”

“boooo first of all and secondly how do you know I’m in my criminal litigation class right now 😯"

“i’ve had your schedules memorized every day since freshman year.”

“still not hearing a yes to the dive bar, nami ^_____^”

“we both have a 9am tomorrow.”

“PWEASSSEEEEE (*/ω＼*)”

“no.”

“PRETTY PLEASEEEEEEE （づ￣3￣）づ╭❤️～”

“it’s just not smart to do when we have a 9am the next day.”

“we can go early and be back before 11pm 🥺(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)”

“dude are you texting in class?” gojo whispers from next to him, surprised to see the nanami kento – star student, strict rule abider, and undisputed teacher’s pet nanami kento – is texting in class. his blue eyes narrow in on the screen before nanami can hide it, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“ah, never mind. if it’s miss sunshine, of course you’ll text back.”  gojo goads, his voice tilting up in a teasing manner.

“shut up, gojo.” nanami hisses, regretting ever agreeing to sit next to gojo to help him in biochemistry because he was failing.

“do you gentlemen have anything you’d like to share with the class?” the professor’s voice booms out disapprovingly from the front of the room, causing the entire class to turn their heads towards the pair.

“no sir.” nanami quickly blurts out, turning off his phone.

thinking he left you on read, you leave class early and speed walk across campus to catch nanami getting out of his biochemistry class, to beg him again. he’s equally amazed at your memory for remembering both the class name and location, and for your persistence of wanting to go out on a tuesday night.

“fine.” he sighs, as if the prospect of hanging out with you all night doesn't make his heart flutter.

you squeal in excitement, trapping him in a too tight hug that restricts his airflow.

“but we’re both back home by 11pm. deal?”

“deal!”

you practically skip back to your class, already murmuring to yourself what lipstick you’re gonna wear, as gojo slides in next to nanami.

“you’re so whipped it’s pathetic.”

“do better in biochem first and then we can talk.” nanami snaps, causing gojo to raise his hands in surrender.

“alright geez….” gojo clutches his heart as if he’s been shot. “you wound me, man. you really do.”

“you’ll survive.”

“will you if you don’t confess soon?” gojo presses, not letting the subject go.

will i? nanami thinks to himself.

classes go by in a flash and before nanami knows it you’re standing in front of his door in a tight skirt and sparkly top with knee high boots to match, practically bouncing up and down with how excited you are.

“it’s super hard to get access but a friend of a friend managed to get us on the list!!!! apparently all the best underground performers perform there before they make it big.”

“mmhmm.” nanami nods along as he tries to focus on the road, but you continue to talk in a rapidfire manner.

“i think the band that’s performing tonight is from england? i don’t know, i didn’t really do my research because I was too busy focusing on what to wear for tonight.”

he chuckles as the car stops at a red light.

“you’re a bit insane, you know that?”

you pout.

“i thought you liked that about me!” you pout, crossing your arms across your chest and leaning back on his car seat.

he turns, his eyes crinkling when he smiles softly.

“i do. you know i do.”

the bar is smoky – red brick stone walls and half faded graffiti adorning every surface, smoke machines obscuring the size of the crowd as nanami’s hand finds yours through the chaos. the music’s loud, the bass blasting off the walls, the vinyl floor sticking to the bottom of his soles from the countless alcohol that’s been spilled for the past few hours. eventually, you settle near the bar, a glass of water for nanami and a fruity cocktail for you, as the place rumbles to life.

he can’t help but think that you look a bit out of place at a place like this, where the majority of the audience have neck tattoos and ripped cut jeans, and you’re in a glittery pink top and velvet black knee high boots swallowed by the harsh lighting of reds and blue flourscent lighting up ahead. the crowd roars alongside the intense bass and heavy guitar, sweaty bodies pushing up against each other and nanami has to physically stiffen his shoulders to prevent strangers from collapsing into him. he sees you nod along to the music, bopping your head along to the rhythm in an attempt to keep up, as he hides his smile from behind his drink.

mid way through one of the slower songs, the main singer takes his time looking into the crowd and makes direct eye contact with you. you smile encouragingly at the man, glittery lipgloss and all, and nanami swears he sees the man fall then and there. the singer’s eyes never leave yours for the rest of the song, and the blonde has to pretend to be surprised that during the break of the band’s performance, the bartender slides over a drink that you clearly did not order over to you.

“oh, I didn’t order this.”

“it’s been sent over by someone very special.” the bartender informs you with a wink, giggling when you duck your head in embarrassment. “you’re such a lucky girl, he’s so hot!” the woman behind the counter gushes at you, gesturing at the band sitting at the edge of the stage on break. at that moment, the forefront singer – wavy brown hair and dark eyes – smirks at your direction and nods.

“what is it?” you whisper to nanami, gesturing to your drink.

“whiskey, maybe?” he whispers back, not even looking carefully at the glass as he’s too busy glaring at the singer making googly eyes at you from the other side of the stage.

you pause at the mention of whiskey, looking down at the dark glass, then up at nanami, then at the band member clearly gesturing for you to come over. you take a small sip before asking Nanami to hold the cup for you, and walk over to the band member. his body aches to follow after you but he stays put, pretending that his heart doesn’t feel like it’s being ripped apart in a million different directions as yet another guy becomes the object of your affections.

“you two aren’t together, right?”

a new, feminine voice interrupts his thoughts. he spins around and it’s a girl – probably similar to your age and his. she’s pretty. she has a nice smile and good fashion sense. she’s clearly trying to flirt, fingers twirling nervously with the spare hem of her dress and fluttering her lashes at him the way you do when you’re tired and want something from him-

you.

she’s cute, probably a nice girl, but she’s not you.

“no, we’re not.” he forces out the response, and her eyes light up in excitement. “but i’m not interested, sorry.”

she’s not you, and that very fact extinguishes any interest or passion he could potentially find in her. she’s nice enough about the rejection, thanking him for his honesty and turning away, and a part of him thinks how easy it would be if he could find her attractive. if he could simply accept that his 10 year crush on his very popular, very sought after, constantly dating best friend would never-

“okay let’s go!”

your cheerful voice interrupts his inner monologue, and you pluck the glass of whiskey out of nanami’s hands and put it back on the bar. he blinks at you, surprised.

“go where?”

“back home, duh. actually, i would kill for an ice cream right now. do you wanna go get ice cream?”

“what about the guy? i-i mean the band.”

your face scrunches up in the same way it does when you smell a candle you don’t like, or see someone tugging the leash of their dog. a surefire sign of disapproval.

“wasn’t a fan. the music wasn’t too bad, i guess just not my taste, but his choice of alcohol is terrible. i mean, sending a glass of whiskey to a girl? who is dressed like this?!” you gesture to your sparkly outfit. “also, he tried to get me to come see him in london within 5 minutes of meeting him. said he “felt a spark” or whatever. i told him I was at least 10 feet away from him so he couldn’t have felt anything.”

nanami laughs out loud at that, a loud, boisterous chuckle that shakes his body as you smile proudly at him.

“point is, I want ice cream nowwwwww. we’re going, right?”

he’s already reaching for the car door before you’ve finished your question. then at the ice cream shop, the moon high in the sky and the quiet drone of cars passing by in the road behind filling the night air, you whisper to him.

“it’s past 11pm.” you say quietly and in a half-sleepy daze, resting your head against his shoulder with a plastic pink spoon hanging from your lips. he’d driven you both to the ice creamery open till midnight and paid, all the while trying not to focus on the sticky, sweet residue dripping from your lips in between each bite of ice cream.

“it is.” he hums.

the silence that follows is comfortable, your knees brushing against his and the flickering of the neon sign of the store behind painting the pavement in neon green and pink.

“aren’t you gonna yell at me for keeping you out so late on a tuesday?”

“first of all, sunshine, i would never yell at you. and secondly… some things are worth staying out late for.” he whispers the last part, looking down at you nervously. you open one of your eyes at that, staring up at him cheekily.

“ah, like ice cream. i agree, nami. wise words. i’d always stay out late for ice cream.”

he briefly ponders if he should correct you but decides he wants to hold onto this moment a bit longer. the sugar rush, the quiet comfort, the feeling of your skin on his – so he just smiles and offers you a bite of his cup.

the vice president

“hey Nami!” your preppy voice wakes him from his hazy rest on a particularly rainy saturday morning, but he forces himself to sound less dead than he actually feels on the inside.

“hey sunshine. everything alright?”

“yeahhhhh uh so I’m on the north side of campus because I was helping film some stuff for the upcoming student government election-“

“right…” he groans, rubbing his eyes.

“then it started pouring rain. and I don’t have an umbrella. then I remembered a certain someone lives in student accommodation near north side of the campus…” you sing song, and nanami glances out his window to see that it is, indeed, raining. Very hard.

“so you want me to come rescue you with an umbrella.” he replies, unimpressed. you can practically see the displeased scowl from his tone.

“yes please. and maybe a shower? i feel like a wet rat. and not in a cute way.”

he’s already putting on a pair of jeans and grabbing your car keys, but he decides to tease you anyways.

“is there a cute way to be a wet rat?”

“yes, if you- oh hi! hold on nanami.”

your voice suddenly becomes muffled, and it’s clear that you’re talking to someone else on the other side of the phone.

“oh never mind nami, hunter said he can take me home instead! sorry for waking you.”

“hunter?”

you laugh from the other side of the phone.

“yeah. vice president of the student council? you must’ve seen his posters all around school.”

now that nanami thinks about it, he has seen hunter's face on several posters. looking like an abercrombie and fitch model with perfectly pearly white teeth and well swept ashy blonde hair, with some cheesy slogan written underneath that nanami couldn’t remember.

“ah. right.” he only hopes it doesn't sound as bitter as he feels.

“think it worked out, actually, because I already felt bad about having to wake you up and ask you to come pick me up.”

 “i wasn’t asleep when you called.” he weakly tries to defend himself.

“rightttt. you study until 10pm every day after getting up at 7am each day, nami. i know for a fact that you sleep in until 10am every weekend, which by the way, isn’t even really sleeping in by normal people standards. anyways, gotta go, hunter’s pulling up with his car! bye!”

“by-“

he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he hears the call click, signalling that you’ve hung up. he stares at the blank, black screen with a significant level of contempt and annoyance, now too frustrated to fall back asleep.

it’s one thing to know that hunter’s your new boyfriend. you introduce him to the group not even a few days later, detailing how all the time you’d spent behind the scenes on the campaign for the upcoming election meant you’d gotten incredibly close with hunter, all the whilst the blonde bastard smiles and kisses the top of your forehead. nanami’s forehead twitches, jaw clenching so tight because only he’s supposed to be able to do that to you.

“relax, nanami. i’m sure he won’t last that long.” shoko whispers to him under her breath, whilst you and hunter are too wrapped up in each other on the other side of the cafeteria to pay attention to what the others are talking about.

“didn’t say anything.” nanami mumbles into his salad, practically stabbing the vegetables as if they’ve personally offended him.

“you didn’t have to.” she says softly, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

gojo and geto just shoot nanami a similar reassuring smile, and the meaning behind their gaze is clear. ‘It probably won’t last, so for now, let’s just be nice to her and go along with it. after all, that’s always been how we dealt with it, right?’

 so Nanami tries to be pleasant. swallows his judgments and nods along to the conversation, trying to focus on the fact that hunter is just another number among it all. He won’t last, like all the other men.

except, nanami finds out, he does.

because the week bleeds into two. then three. then four.

then suddenly you’re friends with people you weren’t friends with before – hunter’s friends. you show up to class wearing hoodies that nanami knows for a fact you don’t own. you’re still present in conversations, but there’s always a dreamy smile on your lips, and without fail a mention of hunter. oh hunter would say this. he likes that. i started watching this tv show because hunter got me into it-

it's driving nanami insane. he tries to dissect the man limb from limb, hoping to find a massive flaw like the others had: that he’s non-committal, he’s selfish, a cheater, a coward, something, god anything to validate to the world that the man isn’t good enough for you-

only to come up empty handed. unfortunately, as nanami comes to learn from the many interactions the two men have from both being in your lives, hunter is a good person. an actually upstanding, honest and considerate person.

even gojo, geto and shoko have clearly made their approval of him very clear, inviting him to board game nights and not batting an eye when he naturally sits when them during lunch now. and god, nanami wants to hate him so bad.

but it’s nearly impossible when the man’s done nothing wrong.

once, on a particularly sensitive day, nanami had snapped at hunter for hitting the ball too quickly at him during tennis practice. but instead of getting upset or confrontational, hunter had waited after the team was dismissed and approached nanami one on one to apologise and ask if he was doing alright. he’d even finished off the talk with a genuinely sincere smile, clapping his hand onto nanami’s shoulder and saying he didn’t want any bad blood between the two of them because he knows how important nanami is to you.

god. it was as if the universe was trying to curse him, as if this man truly had not a single fault. 

and it bothers nanami more than he would like to admit.

a lot, a lot more.

he can’t sleep until 3am each day now and every meal tastes like acid on his tongue.

“nanami. nanami. NANAMI KENTO!”

His coach has to practically scream at him five times to wake him up from his half-awake, half-angry state of being on the day of the tennis tournament.

“what the hell’s gotten into  you lately, son?” the older man barks, and nanami swears the ground underneath him blurs for half a second.

“nothing, sir. I was just thinking about the game.” he lies through his teeth, not wanting to admit what’s really replaying in his head. the image of you, wearing his varsity sweatshirt, cheering on the sidelines. it’s almost real, you are here, you are cheering for him on the sidelines, but you’re not wearing his sweatshirt.

no, instead you’re wearing hunter’s hoodie and sitting next to hunter.

the whistle from the referee snaps him back into focus, the green and white colours of the court blurring into one. the first couple of sets go fine, no problem. but halfway through the game, the ball in his hands feel liks liquid. his mouth tastes funny, his vision fades in and out, and when he takes a step back and throws the ball in the air to strike-

suddenly everything fades to black.

one moment, you’re laughing at something hunter’s saying and watching the game from the corner of your eye, and then the next, nanami collapses onto the court with no warning.

the crowd gasps, the referee blows his whistle to pause the game, and you feel like you can’t breathe. it’s goddamn near instinctive the way you break out into a sprint, breaking free from hunter’s arm that was previously draped over your shoulder, not even sparing him a glance as you run down onto the court and cradle nanami’s face.

you vaguely hear someone in the background call for an ambulance, another pair of hands gently brushing against your shoulder and asking you to step back (it’s hunter’s, you realize), but your hands are shaking so wildly that your fingers refuse to let go of his clothing. so hunter’s forced to follow you and nanami being wheeled out by stretcher to a nearby ambulance, where the employee smiles apologetically at your shaking figure.

“i’m really sorry, but it’s protocol to only let family ride in the ambu-“

“i’m coming with him.” you put your foot down, refusing to move back. hunter tries to intervene, gently coaxing you away.

“darling, they’re just doing their jo-“

“no.” you tug your hand free from hunter’s grasp, jaw clenched and glare unwavering. “i’m going with nanami.”

then your expression crumbles into something softer, something more vulnerable, as your bottom lip quivers.

“please. he’s my best friend.”

“alright.”

you don’t even wait for more to be said, your gaze unflinching from nanami’s body as you climb onto the ambulance with emergency services.

“i'll.... meet you at the hospital.” is all hunter feels able to say, as you solemnly nod.

it’s a long, gruelling, 2 hours. a mild concussion when he hit the floor. mix of a heat stroke and over-exhaustion from lack of sleep. he’ll be fine, the doctor says, but he needs a lot of rest and fluids and it’s unsure when he’ll wake up.

“that’s great news, isn’t it, honey?” hunter tries to cheer you up, rubbing your shoulders, but instead of being comforting, it feels like needles on your skin.

“uh huh.” you reply, unconvinced, your eyes still not moving from nanami’s lying figure on the hospital bed through the window. then it clicks for hunter. and a sad, small smile appears on his lips.

“i'm going to get you something to eat, alright?”

“okay.”

you’re given permission in hunter’s absence to sit by nanami’s bedside and so you do, your left hand trembling as you reach for his hand and squeeze it a few times to reassure yourself that he’s alive. you know he’s alive. you can literally see his chest move every time he breathes, hear the beeping of the heartbeat machine, feel how warm he is when you hold his hand-

and yet, you’ve never felt so alone. the person who’s been by your side for over 10 years suddenly went down like a paper airplane, so fragile and so sudden, and you’ve never felt so terrified in your life.

would you feel this worried if it was Hunter who’d had fainted? your brain suddenly asks, and the image flashes in your head.

no, is your automatic response. you would be worried, sure, and you would want to know that he’s okay.

but it wouldn’t make you feel like this.

like you couldn’t breathe, like the only thing allowing you to make sense of the world was ripped away from you.

you don’t know how much time passes. it could be five minutes, it could be 45. but when a groan escapes nanami’s lips, and his eyes flutter open, you nearly jump out of your seat in relief.

“nami? nami oh my god you’re okay-“

“sunshine? w-what happened?”

“you fainted you idiot.” you’re chastising him, but you have tears in your eyes and a wide grin in relief. “i nearly died from how worried I was. i-i need to call a nurse.”

a nurse comes in with a report and begins some routine checks, whilst hunter returns with a bag of food.

“oh, you’re awake! how are you feeling, nanami?” he asks, dropping a plastic bag of food next to your unmoving figure.

“uh, much better. thank you.” nanami feels awkward looking at your boyfriend now, who, again, is still incredibly nice after it all.

“wonderful. uh, (y/n), could i speak to you about something outside?”

“sure.” you reply, confused. “i’ll be right back.” you whisper to nanami, before slipping out the door. to your surprise, hunter doesn’t simply talk to you outside the room, but he leads you outside the hospital doors and into a quiet garden.

“is… everything okay?” you ask, confused at the sudden change of scenery.

“god, that’s a hard question.” he chuckles, shaking his head sideways. he opens his mouth to speak, before pausing, and replies carefully. “it’s not okay right now, but i think it will be.”

“what? why?”

“(y/n), i think we should break up.”

you open your mouth to protest, but it never leaves your lips when your mind flashes back to that thought of it being him who’d been hurt. of how that fear was nothing like what it felt like for nanami.

“it’s not that I don’t like you. god, i really, really do. you’re one of the sweetest, most cheerful, most likable girls I’ve ever met. but-“ he chuckles, shaking his head sideways. “i don’t think I’ll be able to complete with nanami kento.”

“nanami’s my best friend.” You whisper, unsure of his insinuation.

“i’m not saying you cheated on me, god no, i know you’d never do that. but… i always saw how he looked at you. how he’d soften his edges for you. how his eyes always scan the room for you first. how he hated it every time i lent you my jacket.”

“he did?” your eyes widen like saucers, shocked at the information.

“he really did. and you know, i understood. i mean, he’s known you what, 10 years and here I come in, having only had you in my life for a few months and being your boyfriend. but i... i think i was also in denial of how you felt about him as well. today’s events solidified it, but i think you were-“ he pauses, and looks straight into your eyes. his eyes still kind, but firm. “i think you were looking for nanami in every person you dated.”

something clicks in your mind then.

every guy you’ve dated, every man you’ve had an interest in, they sparked a curiosity in you because they shared a trait with nanami. but they never lasted because they weren’t nanami kento. they were just a fragment, or a poor imitation that you’d tried to correct and mold.

“and I think today’s events made you realize that too. that you love him and not me.”

the truth sits heavy in the air, the birds chirping up ahead and the sun shining down on both of you, but your heart feels heavy at the admission.

“i’m…. i’m really sorry, hunter.” is all you feel able to say.

“it’s okay.” he chuckles, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “i get it. you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. love’s complicated like that.”

“it is.” you let out a shaky sigh. “for… what it’s worth, you were the best not-nanami boy I’ve dated.”

hunter laughs.

“i mean it, really. you’re kind, you’re smart, you’re really considerate…. you’re gonna make some lucky girl in the future very happy.”

“thanks, (y/n).” a pause. “friends?” he suggests, holding out a hand.

you grin, shaking it.

“friends.”

nanami is surprised to see that it’s just you when you re-enter the hospital room, eyes no longer bloodshot from crying but face still etched in something fragile and unreadable.

“hunter’s not coming?”

a small smile etches your lips.

“no.”

“any r-“

you’re kissing him.

nanami’s mind short circuits, and he almost forgets to kiss back, because he’s sure, no certain, that he’s died and entered the afterlife. a fantasy. or he’s in a coma and his brain is re-enacting things that have never happened.

but no, it’s real, and he can tell it’s real by the way your vanilla and jasmine perfume creeps up on him, your warm hands touching his cold neck as you pull him closer, and nanami reciprocates eagerly into the kiss.

the guilt is immediate when you two pull apart, his cheeks flushed and lips still swollen as he croaks.

“b-but, your boyfri-“

“we broke up.” you respond quickly, still out of breath from the kiss. his eyes widen in disbelief.

“just like that?”

you grab his hands with yours, squeezing them tightly.

“he… he helped me realize that I didn’t love him. not the way I love you.”

the admission hits him square in the chest, hope blossoming dangerously in the silence.

“y-you love me?”

you nod, and your smile is so blinding he forgets how to breathe.

“i... i don’t know why it took this long for me to realize, but i’ve been trying to find pieces of you in every guy I’ve dated. instead of just… you know, looking for you. the whole you.”

he sits up at that, warm hazel eyes melting.

“you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

you laugh - carefree and real.

“does that mean you love me too?” you tease, and nanami pulls your wrist, making you sit on his lap, boasting the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on his lips.

“what’d you think?”

nanami kento

 “i’m just saying, if the saturation rate of an enzyme accelerated above the expected- jesus christ guys, knock it off.”

shoko grumbles from next to you and nanami, her face scrunching up in faux disgust at the way you practically climb onto nanami’s lap and claim him as your own.

at this point, three months after the tennis incident, it’s been unanimously agreed in the friend group that everyone is (a) very happy that the mutual pining is over and (b) that you two are a very cute couple, but (c) all that pent up affection for 10 years has exploded into non stop PDA which is a bit too intense for the group’s liking from time to time.

gojo pretends to throw up into his lunch. geto shifts uncomfortably and burrows himself further into his book. shoko glares at you – lovingly – from over nanami’s shoulder to which you stick your tongue out at her and bury your face back into nanami’s neck.

“guys, please don’t be mean to my girlfriend.” nanami hums, poking his head over your shoulder.

“oh my god, we know that she’s your girlfriend nanami, you say that word like a million times a day.” gojo groans into his hands, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

“aww nami do you actually?” you giggle, fluttering your lashes at him to which he smirks, pressing a small kiss to your cheek.

“of course, darling. how could I ever get sick of saying that?”

the group collectively groans, but you know deep down, they’re ecstatic that you two are together.

“i’m actually getting a toothache from watching you two. That’s how sickeningly sweet it is.” geto complains, speaking more down into his textbook than at you.

“hey, you fall in love and try not to act the same.” you argue, as nanami’s arms wrap around your waist.

“you’re going to be late for your next class, sunshine.” nanami whispers against your skin, prompting you to get up from his lap.

“see you guys after school for board game night?” you ask, pleading with your best puppy dog eyes.

“fineeeeeee. but you and nanami are sitting FAR APART with a PILLOW in between you two, got it?” gojo demands, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of you.

“you think they’ll ever get used to it?” you whisper to nanami as you both walk away, his arm curling around your shoulder to pull you closer towards him.

he chuckles.

“i’m not sure. half the time, i’m still getting used to all of this. just... accepting thati's real."

you both stop in front of your classroom, because nanami’s class is on the other side of campus.

“and it is.” you say, softly, readjusting his tie. he smiles.

“and thank god for that.”

he kisses you again, the final notes of bitter green tea from his morning mixing with the sweet peach of your lipgloss, and you bring up a finger to wipe away the sticky residue from his lips.

he stops you, only kissing your fingertips with a smirk on his lips.

"after all, we have 10 years to make up for, do we not?"

a/n: omgggggg guys i'm back!!! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡ i have had the most insane first semester of law school ever ever (hence the long silence) but i have some time off now before second term starts and i wrote this fic on a red eye 12+ hour flight back home xD it's my first time trying to write a college au and not gonna lie, i have so many mutuals who write incredible college au fics so i'm not sure how this stacks up at all... but i'm quite happy with the pacing and details with this fic, i hope the longing and realization came across as sweetly as intended! tbh it's been so long since i posted as well i'm a bit nervous for how this will be taken on but i want to post it rather than not :))) i have so many other wips saved, hopefully i get to those within the next week too because i've felt sooo motivated and inspired to write lately so please stay tuned!!!

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[barbieandkento]

thinking of this best friend!nanami today,,,

[barbieandkento]

omg hi! its 🐡🐡! its been so long, ive been swamped w school work 🫩🫩 i hope ur doing good! i loveeeedd ur 10 days nanami fic, it was exactly what i needed after cramming for my chem test 🙏🙏 I HOPE U HAD FUN AT UR NMIXX CONCERT !!!

OMGGGG 🐡 nonnie I MISSED YOUUUU WELCOME BACK ❤️❤️❤️

so so so glad to hear you enjoyed my latest nanami fic - did you have a favorite line or scene in that monster of a fic? I can't believe I wrote nearly 6k in a few hours 😳

I had the BEST time at the nmixx concert, honestly could talk at length about how amazing it was. Dash, tank, know about me, phoenix and papillon were CRAZY 🤪 also bc I was so close to the stage and dead center I got so much attention from the members they read my signs so often 🥺🥺

How did your test go? I'm sure you smashed it!!!