jyn!

[jynerie]

❀ HIRAYA GARDENS ❀

💐: Pick a flower, send a bouquet! 💐: Requests Open, Asks Open!! 🌸. . . call me jyn, 18, posts sfw but some are suggestive (tagged dw) <3 🌸. . . This blog is for the Jujutsu No Kaisen Fandom, with special interest to Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento. 🌸. . . masterlist ?! (just scroll down, actually lmao)

[jynerie]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑.

pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader (referenced/past) tags. grief, character death (Nanami), slight Yuji-centric comfort, angst, no happy ending note. if things don't add up with canon, yall shld just #ignore it

The call comes at 4:17 in the morning.

You know before you answer it. You know the way you know a storm before the pressure changes, something in the body that registers catastrophe ahead of the mind. Your hand finds the phone in the dark and you lie there for one more second. One more second where everything is still the same as it was. 

Then you answer.

Shoko's voice is quiet. Professional, in the way people got professional when they were holding something enormous at arm's length and needed to keep holding it.

You don't remember what she says after the first sentence.

You are still sitting on the edge of the bed when the door opens two hours later.

You had not locked it. You were not sure why.  Instinct, maybe. Some part of you that had known.

Yuji Itadori stood in your doorway.

He was still in his clothes from the night before. There was blood on his collar that he hadn't noticed, or had noticed and stopped being able to care about. He was seventeen years old and he looked at it in a way he usually didn't — not the fearless, forward-moving thing he normally was, but just a boy, standing in a doorway, wrecked.

He said your name.

Quietly. The word barely carrying. Broken at the edges in a way that told you he had been holding it together long enough to get here and was not sure he could hold it any further.

"I'm sorry, [Name]-san."

Your heart broke.

Not loudly. Not all at once. Just a clean, deep fracture, the kind that didn't bleed immediately.

You crossed the room and gathered him in your arms, and Yuji,  who had taken hits that would have killed anyone else, who had carried things no one his age should have been given, made a sound against your shoulder that he had probably been fighting for hours.

You held him tighter.

His hands gripped the back of your shirt. Not gently. Like he needed something to hold onto that wasn't going to disappear.

You let him.

For a long time, neither of you said anything. The city outside the window was doing what cities did. It was indifferent, continuous, entirely unaware that something had gone out of the world tonight that was not coming back. Somewhere a car passed. Somewhere a light was on.

Kento would have hated that. The way the world kept its own hours, kept its own pace, kept moving with no acknowledgment of what it had lost. He had always found it faintly offensive — the indifference of things.

He had told you that once, on a late evening walk back from a restaurant you'd been trying to get to for months, rain just starting against the pavement. The world is very bad at knowing what it has, he'd said, in that way of his — dry, precise, and meaning more than it said.

You had laughed and taken his hand.

You pressed your eyes shut.

Yuji pulled back just slightly, not fully, just enough to get a breath. He bit his lip. You heard the small sound of it — watched him bite down hard, harder, the way people did when they were trying to locate a pain they could manage, something they could control.

"I told him not to go," he said. His voice was wrecked at the bottom of it, gravel and grief. "I told him. He — he knew, he said something like he knew — and I told him —"

"I know, Yuji."

"I'm sorry I didn't stop him."

The words came out like a confession. Like something he had been carrying the whole way here, the whole weight of a night that should not have ended this way, pressing down on a seventeen-year-old's chest that had already been carrying too much for too long.

"Yuji." Your voice was steady. You were not sure how. "Look at me."

He did. His eyes were red. He had been crying for a while, you thought, and had stopped, and the absence of it was somehow worse than the presence — that particular dry, scraped-out look of someone who had run out and hadn't found the other side of it yet.

"You couldn't have stopped him," you said.

"I should have—"

"No." Not harsh. Firm, the way Kento himself had been firm. Firm but  not unkind, just clear. "You couldn't have. He made his choice. He had been making it—" Your voice caught, briefly, the first time, a small involuntary thing. You let it pass. "He'd been making it for a long time. That wasn't yours to carry."

Yuji looked at you with an expression that said, plainly, that he was going to carry it anyway. That he already was. That telling him not to didn't change the weight.

You knew the expression.

You understood it.

"Okay," you said softly. "Okay. Then we carry it together."

You pulled him back in, and he went, and this time he let out a breath that sounded like something loosening. Not resolved. Not better. Just — not alone.

You sat there in the 6 AM quiet of a city that didn't know what it had lost, holding a boy who was grieving and letting yourself grieve alongside him, because there was nothing else to do and nowhere else to be and Kento — Kento who had been precise and dry and warm in all the ways that didn't announce themselves, who had taken your hand in the rain and meant more than he said — deserved to be grieved properly.

You owed him that, at least.

You both did.

-

Later, very  much later, when Yuji had fallen into an exhausted sleep on your couch with a blanket pulled over him that you didn't remember getting out, when the light had shifted from grey to a pale and uncommitted gold — you sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea you had made and not drunk, and you let yourself be still for a moment.

On the table in front of you, next to the cold cup, was his watch.

Shoko had sent it with someone. You didn't know when it had arrived. It had just appeared, the way things appeared in the hours after something like this, shuttled by quiet people doing the work of grief's logistics.

His watch. Practical. Unadorned. Kento all the way through.

You looked at it for a long time without touching it.

Then you put your hand flat on the table beside it. Not on it. Just — near, like touching it would have ruined the image of it.

The world is very bad at knowing what it has.

Outside, the sun continued its indifferent rise.

You sat with the tea going cold and let the morning happen without you.

[jynerie]

𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

feat. Nanami Kento x Reader tags. established relationship, suggestive, Nanami being obliviously attractive, reader has a normal amount of feelings about this (you do not) note. reader is me, me is reader.

It started, as most of your problems did: completely without warning.

You had been sitting at the kitchen table with your own work spread in front of you, minding your business entirely, when Kento, your sweet, darling boyfriend, came in from the hallway still in his work clothes. Shoulders carrying the particular weight of a day that had been too long and asked too much. He set his bag down by the door, stood there for a moment, and then exhaled.

Not a small exhale. A full, deep, from-the-chest sigh and he reached up and loosened his tie, just slightly, just enough, and then he ran one hand over his face and took off his glasses. 

Your gaze quickly falls to his arms.

His sleeves were rolled up.

They were rolled up to the forearm, because of course they were, because the universe had decided today was the day, and you sat at the kitchen table and felt your brain briefly and completely vacate the premises. 

He set the glasses on the counter. Pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. The frown on his face was deep and tired and entirely unbothered by your existence, because he had not yet looked at you, and he had absolutely no idea what he had just done.

"How was your day?" he asked, finally looking up.

You opened your mouth.

"Fine," you said. Your mouth feels extremely dry, and you have to get up and chug water.

This was a lie. Your day has just become significantly more eventful.

You didn’t say anything about it. Because what were you going to say? 

Kento, I need you to understand that I nearly fell off my chair. 

Kento, the forearms.

Kento, the sigh. 

Kento, holy fuck, you're so damn hot.

He would look at you with that patient, slightly puzzled expression he used when he was trying to understand something and waiting for more information, and that would somehow be worse.

So you filed it away. Tabbed in a very bright color, kept notes, and moved on.

This strategy lasted approximately one week.

-

The second time, you were on the couch.

He had been working at the desk. You know, legitimate work, actual documents, nothing that should have involved you at all- and at some point he pushed back slightly from the desk and reached up and took his glasses off again, this time holding them loosely in one hand while he looked over something on the page, his head tilted with that particular quality of focused concentration he had, brows drawn, jaw set.

The sleeves were rolled up again.

You stared at the side of his face.

You looked at his hands.

You looked at the glasses, held loosely.

You pulled your own blanket up over your face and lay there in the dark of it for a moment, very quietly thinking about your life choices, half patting yourself in the back for having a boyfriend that good, while also half berating yourself for the blatant staring you've been doing.

From across the room, unbothered and unaware: "Are you cold?"

"No," you said, into the blanket.

A pause. "Alright."

He went back to his documents.

You stayed under the blanket, hoping that the heat in your head would calm down.

It did not.

You spent some time after that trying to identify the specific mechanism of the problem, because you were a person who believed in understanding things clearly. It wasn't as though Kento was ever not attractive- that had never been in question, and had not been in question since the first time you'd met him and had to spend a full thirty seconds doing something with your face before you could respond to what he'd said. That was established already.

But the glasses thing specifically. Why the glasses thing?? 

Was it the motion? The way it was always accompanied by something else — the sigh, the rolled sleeves, the loosened tie — like a small private sequence of a man letting the day down slightly, just in the places no one else saw?

Was it the forearms? (It was partly the forearms. You were not going to pretend it wasn't partly the forearms.)

Was it his hands?

You thought about his hands for slightly longer than was productive, and then decided you needed to stop thinking about this and do something useful with your afternoon.

You concluded, with a great confidence, that it was simply the accumulated effect of Nanami Kento existing in close proximity to you over an extended period, and that some problems did not have cleaner answers than that.

It was a Thursday evening when the question became academic.

You had been in the kitchen reaching for something on the upper shelf. It was a task that technically required the step stool and you had ignored the need for it, fully depending on optimism and yourself, when Kento came in behind you.

You were aware of him for a half-second before his hand found the cabinet beside your head and he reached up and got the thing you were reaching for without any difficulty whatsoever, because he was unreasonable, and he set it on the counter beside you.

You turned around.

He was close. The suit jacket was gone. The sleeves were, obviously, naturally, of course, as established by the universe's current agenda, rolled up. He was looking down at you with that expression, the warm, quiet one, the one that was not a smile exactly but carried all the same weight.

"You could use the step stool," he said.

"I had it," you muttered.

"You didn't have it."

"I was about to have it." 

The corner of his mouth moved. "Sure," he said, which he absolutely did not believe.

You were going to say something. Something that meant steering the conversation into something else, so that your brain would start working and that your attention would stop drifting over to Kento, and then he shifted, just slightly, and your back met the cabinet. His hand was warm at your waist and the other braced against the counter beside you, and the thought you were about to see completely left your brain– because he leaned in.

Kento leans in and kisses you.

He kisses you the way he always kissed you when there was no particular hurry. He takes his time, unhurried, and thorough. Your hands found the front of his shirt and you stopped thinking about step stools and your thought to change topics entirely.

Then he pulled back.

Reached up, took off his glasses, and set them on the counter beside you with a quiet, careful click.

And then he pulled you back in, and it was different now — more, and closer, and his hands moved with intention, finding the back of your thigh and hoisting you up onto the cabinet edge like it required no effort, like you weighed nothing, and you grabbed his shoulders and his mouth was hot and the kiss had teeth in it now

And somewhere in the part of your brain that was still capable of linear thought, you arrived at a conclusion.

It was him.

The forearms were a contributing factor. The hands, yes. The sleeves and the sigh and the particular sequence of a man unbuttoning his day at the edges — all contributing factors, duly noted, case made.

But it was him. The whole of him. The patience and the precision and the way he held you like something he had decided to keep. The way he kissed you like a full sentence. The way he had, just now, taken his glasses off before pulling you closer, like he wanted to see you without anything between.

Nanami Kento was irrevocably, unfairly, categorically devastating, and he had absolutely no idea, and that — somehow — was the worst and best part of all of it.

He pulled back again, just slightly, just enough to look at you.

His eyes, without the glasses, were very direct.

"Still thinking about something?" he asked, with the particular patience of a man who had noticed you somewhere in the middle of all of that.

Your brain made a small sound and went dark.

"Nope," you said. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

He looked at you for a short second.

Then the corner of his mouth curved into a full smile this time, and he leaned back in.

You decide at that moment, his lips on yours, his hands on your hips, that thinking was definitely overrated.

[jynerie]

Getting your baby to say "mama" or "papa" first

A game you and your dear husband started the moment your baby started babbling. Little excited gurgles, slobbery cheers and incomprehensible babblings, and you started to repeat the word 'mama' around your child more often, in hopes of it becoming their first word.

Then your husband started doing it.

Oh, it's on.

"Ma-ma." You enunciate it with a grin, bouncing your baby on your hip as you stir the food in the pan. "Ma-ma!"

Your little girl just squeals, babbling things you couldn't make out but you continue on. "C'mon, sweetheart! Say it with mama! Ma-Ma!"

Her attention is somewhere else, little eyes flickering around the place as her hands curl open then close over your shirt.. You sigh, and give up for the time being.

A few days later,"Pa-pa!"

Baby hands grip at your husband's larger fingers, and she squeals. "Wabababa!!!"

"That's great, honey, but let's try it again, this time with a little more pop."

"Pa-Pa!"

Wide eyes stare at him. Pretty cerulean eyes like his, and he sighs. "Can you do it for papa?"

She starts mimicking the way his mouth moves, and he nearly jumps up from joy at the little sounds of "pa.... ap ma?"

Then—

"Mama!"

His heart drops.

His little girl is smiling, babbling "Mama!" over and over again like her papa's heart isn't on the ground right now. Crushed, stomped into little pieces by the babblings of his baby girl chanting for her mother.

"Oh nonononono- baby, honey, sweetheart, c'mon, lets try again-"

"Mama!"

"noooo—"

"Mama! Mama!"

The front door creaks open. He freezes." ... 'Toru, did I just hear her say mama?" He can already hear the wide, victorious smile on your face, and he turns to see you at the front door. There's a glint in your eyes and he slowly goes, "...no."

Unfortunately for him, your little girl ends up squealing the moment she spots you.

"MAMA!"

You see him deflate like a balloon. You bite back your laugh, reaching out for your little girl as she toddles over to mama.

Later, you soothe your pouting husband.

"Next time." Satoru grumbles. "The next baby will have papa as their first word."

You giggle, pressing a kiss on his cheek. "Sure, honey."

[paxyfica]

ruin the friendship w/ bsf!sukuna

play while reading: ruin the friendship

The first time he called you stupid, you were seven years old, sitting on the curb with a scraped knee and tears streaming down your face.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” Sukuna had said, standing over you with his arms crossed. But even then, his hands weren’t as harsh as his words. He had knelt down, slapping a neon Band-Aid over the cut with clumsy fingers. “Stop crying. It’s just blood.”

“Shut up,” you had sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “You dared me to jump off the swing.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

That was the baseline. The constant. Sukuna was the boy who pushed you into the dirt and then pulled you back up, dusting you off while complaining about it the entire time.

By the time you hit fourteen, things started shifting. It wasn’t some grand, cinematic epiphany. It was a Tuesday. You were sitting on his bedroom floor, doing algebra homework while he played some first-person shooter on his console. You looked up to ask him a question, and the words just died in your throat.

He had grown over the summer. His shoulders were broader, his jawline sharper, and his voice had dropped an octave that made something in your stomach flip. He caught you staring, pausing the game and turning his head.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you muttered, quickly looking back down at your textbook. Your face felt hot.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Do I have shit on my face?”

“No, you’re just ugly,” you shot back, a defense mechanism you’d perfected over the years.

Sukuna scoffed, throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper ate your head. “Fuck off. You’re just mad you’re still built like a twig.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. That was the year the crush settled in, quiet and persistent. By fifteen, it was a dull ache. By sixteen, it was a living, breathing thing that sat between you on the couch, rode in the passenger seat of his beat-up Honda, and lingered in the spaces between your fingers when your hands brushed.

What you didn’t know was that somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, Sukuna was having a crisis of his own.

He looked at you one night while you were laughing at a stupid joke he made, the streetlights catching the curve of your smile, and it hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe. He was neck-deep in love with you. But Sukuna’s world was chaotic, angry, and unpredictable. You were the only thing that made sense. You were the only constant. If he crossed that line and they crashed and burned—which, knowing him, they would—he would lose you. And he couldn’t survive that.

So, he built a wall. A transparent one, but a wall nonetheless.

When you were nineteen, you tried to break it down.

It was raining, and you were both sitting in his car outside your apartment building. The engine was off, the windows fogging up from your breath. The tension in the small space was suffocating.

“Are you going to go out with him?” Sukuna asked, his voice tight. He was staring straight ahead at the dashboard, his jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack. He was talking about a guy from your psych class who had asked yo out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, turning your head to look at his profile. “Do you want me to?”

“I don't know, why the hell are you asking me.”

You shifted in your seat, turning your body toward him. You were so tired of the games. So tired of the almosts. “Give me a reason to say no, Sukuna. Just one.”

He finally looked at you, and the sheer desperation in his eyes made your breath hitch. He looked like he wanted to devour you, to pull you across the console and never let you go. His hand twitched on the steering wheel.

“We could be more, you know,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his wrist.

He flinched, pulling his arm back just an inch, but it felt like a mile. “Don’t.”

“Sukuna—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Don’t ruin this. You’re my best friend. You’re the only good thing I’ve got. Don’t fuck it up by making it complicated.”

The rejection felt like a physical blow. You swallowed hard, nodding slowly as you pulled your hand back to your lap. “Right. Okay. I won’t ruin it.”

You got out of the car that night with a fractured heart, and the wall between you turned to concrete.

College was a masterclass in tiptoeing.

You both fell into a larger circle of friends, which made it easier to hide the tension.

It was a Friday night at Gojo’s off-campus apartment. The music was vibrating through the floorboards, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and weed. You were sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs, watching the chaos unfold in the living room.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” a soft voice said.

You looked over to see Choso leaning against the fridge, holding out a red Solo cup filled with water.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, taking the cup with a grateful smile.

“Only to people paying attention,” he replied, taking a sip of his own drink. His eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, warm and steady.

Across the room, you felt the weight of a stare. You didn’t even have to look to know it was Sukuna. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, a beer dangling losely from his fingers, his eyes narrowed as he watched you and Choso.

“Are you two ever gonna just fuck and get it over with?” Gojo yelled over the music, slinging an arm around Sukuna’s shoulders and pointing at you.

The entire room seemed to quiet down for a split second. Utahime smacked the back of Gojo’s head. “Satoru, shut the fuck up.”

“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!” Gojo whined, rubbing his head.

“Fuck off,” Sukuna snarled, shoving Gojo’s arm off him. He didn’t look at you. He just stood up and walked out onto the balcony, slamming the sliding glass door behind him.

You forced a laugh, looking down at your water. “He’s just drunk. Ignore him.”

Choso didn’t laugh. He just watched you carefully. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, your chest aching. “I’m good.”

That was how it went for years. Always okay with how things were, but never enough. Sukuna was always there—he helped you move apartments, he threatened guys who looked at you wrong, he remembered your coffee order down to the exact amount of sugar. But he never crossed the line. He kept you safely in the ‘best friend’ box, terrified that if he took you out, he’d break you.

And you let him. Because having a piece of him was better than having nothing at all.

_______

It was a few weeks before graduation. The reality of the real world was looming over all of you, making everyone a little more reckless, a little more desperate to hold onto the present. You were all gathered in Shoko’s living room, sitting in a messy circle on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of tequila.

“Alright, Never Have I Ever,” Geto announced, leaning back against the couch. “Never have I ever… failed a class and lied to my parents about it.”

Gojo, Shoko, and Utahime drank.

The game went on, the questions getting progressively more invasive as the alcohol hit. You were sitting cross-legged, your knee almost brushing Sukuna’s. He was quiet tonight, his eyes heavy and dark as he watched the group. Choso was sitting on your other side, his presence a comforting weight.

“My turn,” Shoko said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. She looked around the circle, “Never have I ever… been in love with someone in this room.”

The room went silent.

Gojo smirked and took a sip. Geto rolled his eyes but drank. Utahime glared at Gojo and took a shot.

You stared at your cup. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. You could've lied, but you didn't. You were twenty-two years old. You were graduating. You were so goddamn tired of hiding, so you made one selfish thing. One desperate move that you onow would open a pandora box within this corcle.

You raised your cup to your lips and took a long drink.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sukuna freeze. His hand, which had been resting on his knee, gripped the fabric of his jeans so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn’t drink.

“Oh, shit,” Gojo whispered, leaning forward. “Spill.”

“No,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s not the game. Leave it.”

“Don't be a party pooper,” Satoru suddenly said, a hint of mischievousness strengthen by the alcohol evident in his voice. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes burning into yours. “Who?”

The room felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum. Sukuna shifted beside you, his knees tensing, but he didn’t say a word.

“Satoru, drop it,” Geto warned softly.

“What! I'm just asking?” Satoru repeated, ignoring everyone else. You met his gaze, the tequila making you brave, or maybe just stupid. “You want to know?”

“Yeah. I do.”

You didn't need to mention his name, you looked beside you; towards Sukuna, and he was looking intensely at you, your voice remarkably steady despite the way your hands were shaking. “You. Since we were fourteen.”

Someone—probably Utahime—sucked in a sharp breath.

Sukuna stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His expression shattered, the indifference slipping to reveal absolute panic. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued, forcing a bitter smile. You set your cup down on the floor and stood up. “Because you’d rather be safe than be with me. I’m gonna go get some air.”

You walked out of the apartment, the heavy silence following you down the hallway. You made it to the alleyway behind the building before the tears started falling. You leaned against the brick wall, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself against the chill of the night.

The heavy metal door creaked open a minute later. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Did you mean it?” Sukuna asked. His voice was stripped of all its usual arrogance.

You wiped your cheeks roughly. “Why would I lie about that? I tried once when we were in freshman, remember?”

He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away. He looked wrecked. “Since we were fourteen?”

“Yes, Sukuna. Are you really that blind?”

“I’m not blind,” he snapped, running both hands over his face. “I’m just… fuck. You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you yelled, pushing off the wall. “Explain why you look at me like you want me, why you act like I’m yours, but the second I try to make it real, you push me away!”

“Because I ruin everything!” he yelled back, his chest heaving. “Look at me! I’m a fucking mess. I’m angry, I’m selfish, and I destroy everything I touch. You are the only beautiful thing in my life. If we try this, and we crash and burn… I lose you. I can’t lose you. I would rather have you as my friend forever than have you as mine for a year and lose you for the rest of my life.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and devastating.

You looked at him, really looked at him. At the fear in his eyes, the desperate way he was holding himself together. He loved you. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “By not trying… you’re losing me anyway. I can’t keep waiting for you to be brave enough to love me out loud.”

He flinched, taking a step back as if you had struck him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m done waiting. I'm asking you now, please... just please let's try and make it work.” He stared at you long, voice dying in his throat. He wasn't used to feeling anything other than anger, of all the times he felt happiness.. it was all during the times he shared with you.

He wasn't sure if he can risk losing you, the first time he felt like the world favored him was today, when he heard that you wantes to be with him.. but what can a broken man do when he was raised to believe that all the things he own will be destroyed one day?

When Sukuna didn't speak, you walked past him, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t reach out to stop you. He just stood there in the dark, letting you go to save the friendship.

_____

Four years later.

The music swells, a soft acoustic melody that fills the garden. The sun is shining, catching the delicate lace of your white dress as you stand at the beginning of the aisle.

You take a deep breath, clutching the bouquet of white roses in your hands. Your father pats your arm, smiling proudly.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you whisper.

You start walking. The faces of your friends and family blur together, a sea of smiles and happy tears. Gojo is dabbing his eyes dramatically with a handkerchief, Geto is laughing at him, Shoko is smiling softly, and Utahime looks like she’s trying not to cry.

And then, at the end of the aisle, is Choso.

He looks incredibly handsome in his tailored suit, his dark hair pulled back neatly. But it’s his eyes that ground you. They are so full of love, so steady, so absolutely certain. Choso never hesitated.

From the moment you took his hand that night after the party when you went inside, after Sukuna stayed quiet, after Sukuna stayed a coward; Choso on the otherhand made it clear that he wanted you. All of you. He wasn’t afraid of ruining anything, because he was determined to build something unbreakable.

You smile, your heart swelling with a quiet, peaceful kind of love.

You walked, eyes catching the movement in the front row, on the bride’s side.

Sukuna.

He’s wearing a suit, which is a miracle in itself. His hair is pushed back, and he looks older, sharper. He is your Man of Honor, a title he accepted with a tight smile and a nod when you asked him six months ago.

You meet his eyes as you pass by his row.

He is smiling at you, a soft, genuine smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are screaming. They are filled with a grief so profound, an agony so deep, it almost makes you stumble.

In that split second, an entire lifetime passes between you. The scraped knees, the late-night drives, the shared looks across crowded rooms, the unspoken words that suffocated you both.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

He kept his promise. He stayed your best friend, your constant, the guy who helped you pick out the catering menu for your wedding and threatened the florist when they got the order wrong.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

As you break eye contact and look back at Choso, stepping up to the altar and taking your soon-to-be husband’s hands, Sukuna realizes the devastating truth.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

But he never won either.

He watches you smile at Choso, the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the way you look so incredibly safe and loved. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat feeling like shattered glass. He wishes he could say he never lost you. He wishes he could say that keeping you as a friend was enough.

Choso’s thumb gently strokes the back of your hand as the officiant speaks; Sukuna lowers his head, staring at the grass beneath his polished shoes.

He kept you in his life. But he lost you all the same. Atleast he didn't ruin the friendship... right?

an: the way i yearn for bestfriend sukuna fic where he doesn't end up w reader; i've had the song ruin the friendship stuck in my mind for the past 2 weeks and I had to write this down.. i should've just killed him off here, but i can't. ⚰️🫵🏻

[alexiroflife]

"bare minimum" 𓆩♡𓆪

something short and sweet for the nanami mourners

kento nanami x reader

Synopsis: After a lifetime of believing you are meant to be alone, Kento swoops in, ready to love you when you least expect it.

to sum it up: kento heals years of mistrust just by being himself

WC: 5,499

Warning(s): a little angst in there but it's mostly fluff

You always told yourself that you'd never turn into your mother.

The constant overextending. The subconscious, trauma-induced emotional manipulation. The sheer weight of her feelings that she never allowed herself to bear alone, always with the help of her daughter who carried the weight of her unhealed grievances on her growing back.

Your mother was emotional. Empathetic in that way that makes one feel suffocated, her emotions inescapable. Impossible to avoid feeling, and impossible to avoid projecting. How else is one woman meant to go on with the burden of such intensity all on her own? Someone had to act as a buffer, to shoulder it all, to take the heat of the manifestations of her haunting past.

She gave you better than what she had, but still inflicted damage nonetheless. You figure now, in your older age, that is the very curse of cycles and generational patterns. The inheritance is inevitable.

And growing up overly conscious of error, oppressed verbally, and trained to bear the plights of other people, you turned your nose away from any notion of vulnerability, and any possibility of you taking on your mother's flawed behaviors.

I'd never treat my kid this way, you would tell yourself, holed up in your closet with your face burrowed in your arms, tears streaking down your heated face as your mind replayed the accusations of disrespect and the belittling of your character for expressing opposing opinions. I never want to be like this.

For a while, you think swearing by this oath will work some kind of magic on you, wipe away your genes, and free you of all the memories and experiences you have with overpowering emotion, with your mother.

You think that when you fly the coop, you'll get a clean slate.

But suppression only leads to explosion.

You hide away behind a wall of toughness, as you've long struggled with letting people in, with letting them see the real you for fear of their judgment. Every time anyone has ever managed to peel away at the layers and expose the truth in your unsaid thoughts and your overthinking tendencies, they villainized you.

You've accepted a lot of bullshit in your early years, thanks to the skillful way your mother formed you into a durable doormat for others to stamp their complaints into. Boys guilting you into having sex, expressing insecure possession - declaring you too friendly, uncaring, rude for speaking your mind.

Excessive blame for things outside of your control, lies about secret attraction toward friends, forcing you to drive everywhere, to pay, to be at their beck and call but not to bother them while they're occupied.

Lack of communication. Hours into days without texts. Weaponized incompetence. Never thinking to hold the door, never cleaning you up after sex, gaslighting, lusting, preying.

And they were never like that in the beginning. Always scheming, always putting on a mask to be able to say that they could obtain you, a prize, then letting it drop once you were within their grasp.

Disheartened by betrayal, tolerance worn thinner with each disappointment, the very worst act upon your tender heart. You crumble, you burst, you pour out the years of pent up anguish. Every moment you've held onto when you felt belittled, or ignored, or unseen by those you've trusted rockets from your chest into a spew of heavy, harmful truths that sever the connection between yourself and others.

In moments of unreciprocated action and the antagonization of your pleading words, you step outside of your body to look down upon yourself - you realize that you aren't much different from your mother.

Overexplaining, pleading with someone to hear you though they can not provide the things you need, to understand your pain, to feel the sorrows you feel every day. You've begged for someone to lean on. Someone who can handle knowing you, who can learn about you without tilting his head and saying that your emotions are...

A lot.

But that someone has yet to come.

You recall telling your mother the same thing in your early college years, when you finally worked up the courage to advocate for yourself. To fight back. To create a sense of self separate from hers.

You shiver at the comparison. Kids really are doomed to be their parents from birth. You know, now, that there is no escaping it.

You aren't good with friendships. You're horrible with relationships. You don't trust others with your love, with your whole self. You've only ever truly felt safe within your own mind, where no one else can harm you. Where you can't harm anyone else.

You tell yourself that you don't mind being single. In fact, you're better off. You have more room to develop yourself, to work toward your goals, build upon your career, nurture yourself in a way that you know you can't when you are in love and consequently overextending.

You try to push down the feelings of loneliness that often consume you when you see a happy couple walking by. You ignore the longing, the desire to be seen and loved in such a way by someone other than yourself. You convince yourself that it will never come, so you don't wait for it. You push on and try to forget.

Then, you meet Nanami completely by accident.

You're having a particularly unpleasant day, and after your shift, you decide to treat yourself to a fresh baked pastry to soothe your troubles and consequently destroy the diet you've put yourself on.

You're in front of the line, scanning the assortment of baked goods, and you finally decide on a tea and a chocolate croissant half the size of your head that's been calling your name. The lady behind the counter smiles politely and tells you the total you owe. When you reach for your purse, however, you realize that it is not on your person, but recall that it is lodged under the passenger seat of your car, after you'd tossed it off of you upon leaving work.

Embarrassed and annoyed, you sigh heavily and close your eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - forgot my wallet in my car. I'll be right back to go get it."

Before you can turn to go, someone walks up to the counter beside you. You think, at first, that he is rushing you, so you shoot him a hard glare, but instead, you are met with the side profile of quite a handsome man, tired and softspoken as he interjects.

"No need," he starts, voice formal and low with fatigue. He slots his fingers through his wallet calmly, clad in a grey work suit that brings out the soft yellow color of his blonde, fluffy hair. "I'll cover hers as well as mine."

You freeze, face falling with shock. "Oh god, don't do that," you step toward him again, reaching your hands out as if you can stop him, but he's already handing the lady a couple of bills as he recites to her an order that she seems to be all too accustomed with.

He turns to look down at you with the kindest chocolate eyes. "I assure you. It's not a problem."

"Really, though, my wallet's only a few steps away. I'd hate for you to pay for something I can easily take care of."

"Perhaps, but then you'd have to wait in line all over again. I figure this is more convenient," he explains simply, and you furrow your brows with a blink. The lady behind the counter darts her eyes between the two of you, hesitantly reaching for the money that is still extended toward her, unsure of what the consensus is.

"Sir, please," you chuckle awkwardly. "You're... too kind, but I can pay for myself."

"I insist."

"No, I insist. You don't even know me."

"I hardly think that matters."

"But-"

"Girl, just let the man pay! Damn."

Both of your heads swivel to the older woman behind you, her hand propped on her hip with a sour impatience scribbled onto her wrinkled face. Your brow twitches, and you turn to look up at the stranger beside you and catch the ghosting smile that graces his exhausted, pretty features.

You open your mouth to protest, but then consider the long line behind you, and deflate. "Okay fine." You nod toward the lady at the counter who finally takes the man's money.

She grins, counting the bills then putting them into the register. "We'll have your orders out shortly. Thank you! See you at the end of the week, Nanami!"

You step to the side as the man who paid for you nods into the woman's direction with appreciation and familiarity, before stepping to the side along with you.

The two of you stand next to each other awkwardly, your arms folded over your chest, and you clear your throat. "Thank you," you manage.

The man shakes his head. "Don't. Really. It was my pleasure."

"Still, you didn't have to do that. It's not like I forgot my money at home."

"I was happy to. Regardless." You slim your eyes with skepticism, unsure of his angle. He seems to catch your suspicion with a soft chuckle, as he proceeds to ask, "I take it you don't believe me."

Slightly taken by his forwardness, you stumble to explain. "It's not that I don't believe you, I just don't really get... why?" you shrug, smiling awkwardly with your teeth.

The handsome blonde ponders you thoughtfully. "Does there have to be a reason other than me wanting to?"

"No one ever wants to cover someone else," you wave him off.

"I just did."

Your mouth curves up. "Out of obligation."

"Because I wanted to," he corrects you for the third time.

You press your lips together tightly, and he chuckles something light and unexpected. "Are you laughing at me?" you quirk a brow.

"No."

Your eyes slim. "Liar."

The handsome man shakes his head, a smile line creasing over his warm skin. Tired eyes blink before landing back on you out of the corner of his eye. "Not at all," he says earnestly.

You look away. So does he.

You find yourself unsure of what more to say, so you let more awkward silence fill the small space between you as the cramped bakery grows busier. You tap your foot against the floor as you wait, and the man named Nanami checks his watch multiple times. You're keenly aware of his presence beside you. You try not to let it further bother you.

It shouldn't bother you, but the excited flutter of your heart proves otherwise, though you endeavor to ignore it and brush it off as nerves.

The call of your name soon comes, and your brows furrow as you and the blonde stranger move to grab your order at the same time. With hands outstretched, you find each other's gaze again, and you frown skeptically - Nanami seems to have reached your warmed croissant and hot drink before you.

"I was closer," he offers as he turns to you, tea in one hand and bag in the other. Your brow twitches as you hastily take your order from him. He lets you, his hands falling instinctively to his sides as though to surrender power back into your jurisdiction. "You would have had to push through-"

"I'm aware," you cut him off. "You don't have to go doing everything for me now."

"That wasn't my intention..." the brown eyed man trails off. Suddenly, his name is called behind him, and his head turns slightly at the sound but his eyes remain on you as he fumbles with his thoughts, bearing an indifferent expression. "I'm sorry. I've offended you."

You watch as he grabs his own order, nodding toward the worker with pressed lips of acknowledgement. You look down at your own order in your hands, and back up at him. "No... you haven't. Sorry. It's - just been a long day. Not used to random acts of kindness," you say as an excuse.

The man faces you again, a large loaf now tucked under his arm as his veiny hand clasps his coffee. "I understand."

A lull in the conversation strikes once more when the two of you realize that you have nothing more keeping you within the establishment. "Well, thank you. Again. Really, that was... unnecessarily nice of you."

"You don't need to keep thanking me. It really was nothing."

He walks a few paces behind you as you both go to leave the bustling bakery, and as he lunges from behind to stretch his free arm toward the door, pushing it open from the angle he discovered just above your head, your brows pinch again. And you thank him. Again.

You give him a tight smile before turning over your shoulder to walk to your car, when you hear his steady, polite, subtly hesitant voice.

"Pardon me, but you're very beautiful."

Your heels halt their clicking against the pavement. You freeze, whipping your head over your shoulder with tight muscles and wide eyes. The suited man stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, face blank and eyes honest. He does not try to perform. Does not try to add anything more to the compliment. He simply lets it linger in the air, making himself known to you for fear that he would never see you again.

Your lips part, your breath hitches. You're hardly new to such praises, but the gentleness of his tone when he spoke, the humility in his words, the lack of expectation in his eyes is what frightens you.

You see his lips tighten under your gaze, and he shifts the bread under his arm. "That's all."

"Is that why you paid for my order?" you ask suddenly, cheeks warm and brain stirring with confusion. “Because I’m beautiful.”

Something in him dissipates, as though the tension in his body has eased slightly at your voice. "Partially. I saw you walk in before me. You looked stressed so, I thought I'd try to make you feel better."

"And how would you know if I was stressed or not?"

"Because I'm stressed all the time. I can sense it from a mile away."

There is, once more, no performance behind his words. Just truth in exasperation, in the lidded state of his warm eyes and the lines creasing beneath them. You inhale to speak, but the words get caught in your chest again. You have nothing to bite back with, nothing to scoff at, no excuse to chastise, and you're unsure of how to go forward accordingly.

You swallow hard. "Well, I hope you don't think that buying me something when I don’t even know you is gonna give you some kind of advantage."

"I don't think that," he shakes his head simply. "Like I said before, it was my pleasure. I don't expect anything from you in return."

You raise your brow, unconvinced. "Really?"

"Truly."

Your brows come down and your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. A light smile returns to the stranger's lips, something soft and observant. "Then," you start, drawing your tea close to your chest. "I'll be taking my leave now."

You wait for an outburst, an explosion, for him to go on a tangent about how you haven't even given him the decency of providing a number, or at least for his expression to shift with irritation. But none of which comes. Instead, he just nods simply and goes to walk off as well. "As will I. Have a wonderful day, miss."

Your jaw drops when he walks away, slow, easy, tired strides, and you stand frozen in place, watching the back of his head as he moves away.

You clamp your lips shut and swallow hard, moving to turn around as well, but something in you fights back. You clench your jaw hard and close your eyes before- "Excuse me!" you call out. Now a few yards away, he stops and turns over his shoulder with surprise and curiosity. Your lips crinkle, your skin flushing as passerbyers glance at you, and the blonde's attention is once again yours.

You can't believe you're doing this.

"W-What was your name again?"

He blinks, genuinely surprised that you stopped him to ask. "Kento Nanami."

You nod. “Okay. Good. Goodbye.”

You swiftly turn over your shoulder and leave, and the blonde watches you, shocked, before smiling.

You see Kento a handful of times before you finally give in and give him your number and your full name. You realize that, due to his frequent appearances in your recent life, that he must live within the same vicinity as you. A few hopeful conversations and approaches initiated by the blonde, cautious yet earnest, and a text from your friend is what pushes you to finally give him access to you outside of short interactions in the middle of the cereal aisle.

You're guarded from the beginning, terrified by his generosity, his respectful good morning texts, the way he checks in on how you're doing when he has free time in the day - unprovoked, unpressured, seeking no ulterior motive.

You would stare at the lit phone screen with your chin propped angrily in your palm, fingers thumping against your lips as your glare sharpens on his perfect grammar. You're waiting for the gentleman routine to die away, to fade out, but it remains steady over a week of phone conversation. Still, a week is just a week. Hardly enough time to know someone's true motivations, and you've been with men who have kept up the act for months before finally revealing his hidden, careless identity.

But then, Kento asks you out.

You read the text over and over after having initially dropped your phone and jumped away upon receiving the message.

Kento | I would love to take you to dinner, if you would be willing to let me.

It's a trap, you immediately think. You can't remember the last time you've been on a date, the last time a man actually asked you properly, the last time a man planned something for you without expecting you to jump through hoops to see him. You're prepared to tell him no, or that at the very least you'd think about it, but after leaving him on read for nearly six hours, and another call with your best friend, you accept, as she claims that you would be crazy not to go out with him.

But she can not account for the discomfort that seizes your body when he meets you outside of the nice restaurant he picked, after you insisted on driving separate cars; when he opens the car door for you and stretches his hand inside the vehicle to gingerly take yours in his; when his eyes capture your face and not your body as he tells you that you look absolutely stunning; when he pulls out your chair for you to sit down, having guided you by your hand throughout the twists and turns of the dimly lit space, an air of natural dominance crowding him when he interacts so calmly with the staff.

He does not suffocate conversation with arrogance, but asks you questions about your life, holding your gaze as you speak to show that he is truly listening. When you notice him staring, he apologizes, ducking his head with the intrusion of stifled shyness as he continues to compliment you, your mind, your beauty.

You're out of your depth. Your heart flutters the whole night as your (e/c) hues hold his warm ones, and your skin crawls with something you can't quite name. You don't remember the last time you felt so seen, so prioritized, so catered to. And more than Kento's swiftness to pay without blinking an eye or letting you even see a peep of the bill, and more than his haste to make sure you aren't too hot or cold, that your food is just the way you wanted it, is the manner with which he treats you. As though wining and dining you at some fancy place you always wanted to try is nothing near a chore, but something he feels that you are entitled to, that he is expected to do as a man in pursuit of your heart.

And at the end of the night, after he has offered to walk you back to your car, instead of expecting once more, he asks if he can take you out again.

You look at him with a dumbfounded gaze for a long moment, as you likely have for the majority of the night, and you mindlessly nod, your skepticism warping into fear.

Fear over the fact that this is the first man you've felt a genuine connection with after years of shielding your heart from any possible vulnerability.

You wreck your brain, wondering what this man could possibly want from you. Sex? A mistress? Someone to manipulate? 

The speculations die one by one with each date you have with him, with every fact you learn about his personality and his daily life, about his morals and values, his drive, his grit, his responsibility. Three dates fly by, and he has yet to ask you to join him at his place or to accompany you at yours. He keeps a respectful distance whilst continuing to pursue you, to treat you, to court you as a man should.

You feel yourself actually beginning to like Kento, and that prospect alone is enough for you to disappear for a couple of days after your discovery. You tell him that you've been busy, that you don't have the time you once had to talk on the phone every night or plan your next outing.

Ordinarily, you get away with your habitual isolation, but one rather serious text is enough to tell you that you won't be able to get away with such things with Nanami, especially since he has made his intentions with you very clear - that he plans to be yours.

Kento | Hello, beautiful. I understand you need your space. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but from your tone and distance, I've sensed that you are upset about something. I recall you mentioning that you tend to take steps away when you aren't feeling like yourself. I won't further intrude in honor of your space, but whenever you feel ready, I am here to talk or listen. I sent you something to help take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. I hope you like it.

You open your door to find a bouquet of flowers lying at your doorstep, and a note attached with Kento's name and I'm here written in cursive. Your nose flares and your eyes glaze over as you look down at the thoughtful gift. No one's ever sent you flowers before. Not like this.

And no one's ever noted your habits, ever paid enough attention to you to tell when you're overstimulated or overthinking. You'd mentioned that about yourself one time, and Nanami remembered. And he didn't just remember, but he acknowledged it. He didn't antagonize you for it. He made himself known, and reminded you that you aren't alone. That you don't have to be anymore. That he sees you and wants to continue seeing you in every sense of the word.

Your heart pangs. You like him and you're terrified.

You don't reach out to him until the next morning. You've placed your flowers on the counter for display and lean against the kitchen sink with your phone in hand. Your leg bounces restlessly against the cabinets as you harshly tap on his contact to call. It's the weekend, so he answers rather swiftly.

"Hello?"

"You scare the shit out of me," you bluntly confess into the speaker, voice tight.

The other line is silent for a moment before Nanami's voice, low and thoughtful, comes back in. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he apologizes. You click your teeth with a huff of a laugh. "Could you tell me what I've done to make you feel that way?"

You suck in a sharp breath, for there truly is no way to get this man to show any bad side. Your gut trusts him, but your mind screams at you to run, while your heart yearns to feel his arms encase you as he tells you that everything will be alright. You're at odds with yourself.

But you want him so badly.

"You're too nice," you exhale through an anxious laugh, looking longingly over at your flowers.

"...Too nice?"

"Yes. I-It's confusing. You don't need to check in all the time or - or send me flowers-"

"You don't like them?"

"No," you quickly say. You sigh. "I mean... no - yes, I do like them. They're very sweet. T-Thank you. But that's not what I mean. I just mean... like... you're so..."

You stumble over your words, struggling to find the right way to express yourself whilst evading judgment. Your mind frantically searches for the right path and you fumble.

"(Y/n)," Kento calls gently.

"What?" you heave.

"Take your time," he guides. "Just tell me how you feel. It's alright."

You freeze. "...Wha...What?"

"I'm listening, sweetheart. Just take your time to sort it all out," he assures.

Your lips press together in a pout as you stare ahead, wide-eyed, your heart pattering in your chest. Your eyes sting with humiliation, and that hardness around your heart softens as you feel that you will finally be heard, that someone is happy to hear you.

You take in a shaky breath. "Why are you so nice to me?" you whisper.

"I'm happy that you think I’m kind, but I’m not trying to be nice, (Y/n). I've only aimed to be honest. I like you, and I want to be with you someday if you would like that too. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In all honesty, I haven't done anything very remarkable."

"You haven't-" you stop yourself with another laugh, sniffling slightly. "Kento, what do you mean you haven't done anything remarkable? You - you're so sweet to me all the time. You go out of your way to do things that you don't have to do."

"Like what?"

"Like... planning our dates all the time, or picking me up, or sending me things, or-or listening to what I say-"

"(Y/n), those aren't remarkable things. That's the least I can do for the woman I care about."

"You say that, but you don't get it."

"Perhaps I don't," he agrees. "But I'd love for you to help me understand what you're feeling more."

You trace your finger over the countertop sheepishly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Can you come over?"

"Absolutely."

And he does. And the two of you talk for hours, or rather, he listens to you spill your vulnerabilities, your feelings, vent your concerns and frustrations with a trust that you did not realize you had formulated with him. And unlike every guy who brushed you off or told you that you were too demanding or too emotional, Nanami holds your hand, looks you in the eye, tells you he hears you, and means it.

Your bottom lip trembles as the past month or so spent with him flickers through your mind. You can feel the race of your pulse against the blonde's skin, and you frown at yourself. At how giddy he makes you feel. "I know how I get," you say. "When I have feelings for someone, they're not something I take lightly. I'm not casual. I can't pretend not to care, and I don't want to feel like I'm grasping for attention when you finally get me. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that just because you're nice, you can't do what other people have done."

Nanami watches you with a fondness you can't name, silent and steadfast, warm and enticing. His thumb traces over the back of your hand as he sits close to you on the couch, unhurried, patient, present, and grateful to be.

"I can't pretend to know what other men have put you through, or how deeply it continues to impact you. I know you're scared. You have every reason to protect yourself the way you do," he begins. "But I'm not that kind of man. When I say something, I mean it. When I promise something, I have every intention of fulfilling that promise. When I treat you one way, it's not for show. It is how I intend to treat you for as long as you will allow me. I know trust is not something that can be built overnight, but I'm willing to do the work. I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. I won't try to rush that happiness or that trust. You're entitled to your space when you need it. You owe me nothing. But when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."

You sink into his words, your walls cracking, your heart surging. Glassy, red eyes search his face for some trick, and you once more come up empty handed. He presses his lips together in that tired, half smile, reminding you that it's okay.

Moved, you lean forward and press your lips to his impulsively, parting shortly after with a soft smack and sad eyes. You go to start apologizing when his palms raise to hold your face and your lips are slowly brought back into his.

Nanami kisses you for the first time like he is holding something precious. He does not attack you, but he savors you, slow and kind like his voice and the way he interacts with the surrounding world. You feel your chest tighten and warm, your skin tingle all over, and your flesh run hot as he holds you to him carefully, politely, gliding warm lips over your own with an appreciation so firm, he can't bear the thought of breaking away.

You part for a moment with heavy eyes, his thumb tracing over the skin of your cheek. Your hands press to his shoulders as you release a hot breath. "Please don't hurt me," you plead against his mouth, surrendering yourself from this point forward.

Nanami cradles you close. "I'll do everything in my power not to."

And even then, his words ring genuine, for Kento is aware that he can not promise such things, that people hurt their loved ones without attempting to all the time. But more importantly, he will work to honor your desires, to remember your triggers and fears, to know you well enough for that not to happen as long as he can control it.

And that, to you, means more than he could even begin to understand.

The two of you take it slow. You don't have sex until after he has asked to be your partner, and when you do, Kento asks for your permission before making any move to touch you further. He sees, feels the anxiety in your eyes and your body language, the fear that sexual intimacy will draw him further away from you, but he stays.

He stays with you while making love to you, holding your gaze, interlacing your fingers, pressing his body flush to yours, eliminating any exposure to the cold, keeping himself present. 

He stays with you after, holding your shivering body against his, murmuring soft praises into your ear and pressing warm kisses to your skin.

And rather than creating a distance, sex brings you inexplicably closer. The passion is thick in Nanami's enamoured eyes every time he sees you, every time he utters your name. After months of chipping away, you mirror his smitten nature, opening yourself up to the affections he always, always provides.

That's what Kento is, a provider, financially, physically, and emotionally. You feel light with him by your side, like the burdens of the world have lifted from your shoulders just long enough for you to breathe and simultaneously enjoy the good that it has to offer.

You never find yourself overexplaining your frustrations, because Kento has already noticed them and taken action to help you through them. 

You never feel as though you are carrying anything alone, because Kento is always there to share the load or take it on himself.

And you never experience a moment in which you feel unloved, because Kento ensures that he spends every second of every day reminding you what you mean to him, showering you with unforced, unconditional ardor.

When you look back on your past, at the lengths you went to avoid further damage to your heart, you wonder what force in the universe brought Kento to you when you thought that you were never meant to experience the happiness you do now.

[w0rm3y]

What the hell is happening in Shibuya?

...Well, Husband!Sukuna is actually being scolded by his wife, and he's taking it like a little bitch champ ═══════════════════════════

“Please, watch your step, my lady,” Uraume warned, taking the lead a few paces in front of you to guide you through the chaotic scene your husband had made of Shibuya. It was quite impressive, you had to admit, but you weren’t about to praise him for his mess–you’ve seen better, and you’ll make sure to let him know that as soon as you’re done giving him a piece of your mind.

They paused a few steps in front of you, waiting for you to catch up to offer you their hand and help you over the smoldering rubble. You paused when, above your head, you heard Sukuna’s familiar maniacal laughter as he toyed around with a curse, tossing the poor thing all over the city without any real effort or care for the civilians among you.

“Fucking manchild,” you sneered under your breath, following Uraume’s lead through the burning mess. In the distance, you watched a plane fall from the sky, crashing into a fiery pit of rubble before exploding. “His gluttonous need for mayhem disgusts me.”

Uraume chuckled, “I believe there was a time when you found that to be a charming attribute of his, my lady. And if I remember correctly, you used to eagerly partake in the chaos as well.”

“Don’t mistake my words, Uraume. I only meant that this madness isn’t something to indulge in alone–he’s keeping this all to himself.”

They hummed over your explanation with a small smile. “I see. You’re upset that you’ve been left out.”

“Precisely,” you hissed, taking their hand again when it was offered to you. “He should have waited for me.”

“To be fair, Sukuna-sama wasn’t aware that we’d be attending. Otherwise, I’m almost certain he would have waited for you.” You didn’t believe that for a single second. “This way, my lady. I believe their fight is nearing its end.”

When you finally set your eyes on your husband again, he was watching over the burning corpse of the curse he’d been fighting. At your side, Uraume dropped to their knee on the charred sphere you were standing on. In another life, one that was set a thousand years ago, you might’ve knelt before your king, too. 

However, this was a different era, and you’d had a thousand years to stew in your anger and contempt after being neglected and abandoned by your husband. To say you were livid was an understatement; therefore, the only one who would be doing the kneeling between you and Sukuna was going to be Sukuna kneeling for you.

“Who are you?” he dared to ask, not even turning to look at you or Uraume.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sukuna-sama.” 

You rolled your eyes at the pleasantries that always dripped off Uraume’s tongue when they addressed your husband–as if he deserved it.

“I’ll have to disagree with you, Uraume,” you gritted out, finally earning the attention of the insufferable man you bound yourself to all those years ago. “I feel rather nauseous upon our meeting.” 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, red eyes, mirthless and unamused, narrowed in your direction as he tried to fit the familiar pieces together. Then, as if the realization struck him at once, they ever so slightly widened in surprise, then filled with just a touch of fear. 

Good.

“You spineless coward.” His throat bobbed as he gulped, watching as you paced forward, paying no mind to the singed ruins burning the hem of your kimono. “You disgusting, petulant, monstrous, little brat–do you have any idea how long you’ve left me alone?! To deal with the consequences of your actions that you left behind without a moment’s notice?!”

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from stabbing your finger into his chest. “You’re angry-”

“Yes! I am angry! You did not tell me you were abandoning me-!”

“I did not abandon you-”

“Do not play dumb with me!” Your hand surged up to grab onto his face, fingers digging into his cheeks to pull him down to your level. So easily, he could have pried you away from him, yet he didn’t. Instead, he only rolled his eyes and waited for you to finish. “You said you were going away for a while.”

“And that was true. It has been a while, yes?”

“I did not think you meant a thousand years!”

“Your mistake then.”

You were about to grind your teeth down into little nubs with how tightly you were clenching your jaw. A sneering hiss passed your lips, and you harshly dragged your hand away from his face. 

“This boy that you’re inhabiting–your vessel-”

“Yuji-”

“I do not care for the brat’s name!” Sukuna flinched at your tone. “Does he feel pain when you are fronting in his body?”

“No.”

“Good.”

With his answer, you didn’t hesitate to back hand him across the face, putting all your rage into the one swing. He grunted with the impact to his cheek, but took the attack as he should–wordlessly and without punishing you back. 

The space around you went quiet, only filled by the crackling sound of embers and distant screams of anguish as you dragged your hand back, shaking out the tingles quickly before holding it out to him, which he begrudgingly took to heal it for you. 

“That has quelled the worst of the anger.”

He only grunted in response to that, tracing his thumb over the back of your hand until it didn’t ache anymore.

“There.” When he let go of your hand, you didn’t pull it back. You kept it held out in front of him until he groaned and grabbed it, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before lowering it to your side in a soft, delicate motion. “Good?”

“Adequate,” you corrected him, crossing your arms and sliding your hands into the sleeves of your kimono. “With that out of the way, I will admit that I’ve missed you.”

He exhaled a faint sigh of relief, the smallest smile ticking up on the corners of his mouth before disappearing. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Have you really?”

“Indeed. Want me to prove it to you?”

“No need.” Your nose curled at his insinuation, eyes glaring over his new body. “I’ll take your word for it. I’ve no interest in lying with someone so young and who lacks the proper number of appendages. You’re missing two of your arms.”

He chuckled, “Among other appendages, but yes, I’m aware.”

You grabbed the uniform he was wearing, bunching it in your fist to push it up to his chest, revealing his boringly bare torso, no belly mouth in sight. “And the best part about you is also missing. How tragic…”

“My apologies.” 

With a scoff, you released the uniform top, returning your hands to your sleeves. “When will this affair be over? And I mean completely over. I want my husband back, and I want him in my husband’s body.”

“Hard to say. I have a few more things I’d like to do.”

“Make it quick then. I want to spend the New Year together-”

“It’s not that simple-” At his interjection, you raised your brows, making him fall silent before he sighed, “I’ll make it quick.”

“That's the way.” You took a small step toward him, closing the gap between you. “Lean down.”

When he did, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, which made him grumble, “That’s it?”

“It’s all you deserve.” 

You gave his chest a pat before turning on your heel, only to be caught by your wrist and pulled back against him. His arms circled around your waist as his face pressed into the crook of your neck. Sukuna inhaled deeply and released it with a sated groan, hand dragging down your hips to palm your asscheek. 

“You’re not really leaving already, are you?” He pressed a kiss to your neck, just below your ear. “You should stay. I’ll fight you next. It'll be the most fun we've both had since I left.”

“No, thanks.” You let him place only one more kiss to your skin before pushing away. “Don’t make me wait too long, Sukuna. I’d hate to have to find someone else to take care of me.”

He snorted, “Like who? No one else can handle you.”

You shrugged innocently. “I hear Satoru Gojo’s in Shibuya. Sealed up tight in the prison realm. Maybe I’ll just take it for myself and free him. Maybe then I’d renounce my title as your queen and devote myself to fighting for his cause. Offer myself up as his wife, too–I’m sure he’d appreciate a step up in the competition, don’t you?”

You could feel his anger wafting off of him in waves, hitting you in the back of the neck as you grinned.

“I’ll kill you both.”

“Hurry up while you still have a wife waiting for you.” You hid your snickering behind your hand when you heard his irritated grumbling. “Let’s go, Uraume. I need a new kimono before you take me home.”

[jynerie]

the jjk sequel... why does geto hates his fucking characters where are my babies (yuji, megumi, itadori)

[jynerie]

˙𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

[jynerie]

biting as a love language

pairing. gojo satoru x reader notes. fluff, a bit suggestive but its not that much? mostly fluff

when satoru said he was into biting, he meant in bed. but, well, your version seems much more fun. and cuter, and it also leads to other things that he enjoys. like actual biting, in bed. 

either way, he didn’t think biting could be a love language- until he met you. you… and your unimaginable love language and habit to bite (softly. or hard. depends on the situation) the person you care about.

the first time you bit him? oh wow. mind blowing.

“ow-!” he retracted his entire being, away from the source of the bite mark that rests on his bicep. his eyes, bright, cerulean and full of confusion, are wide as he stares at you. you, smiling and tilting your head like you didn’t just shock the thoughts out of your boyfriend. “did you– you just–” satoru glances back from the bite mark to you and goes, “do that again.” 

you blink at him. “... no explanation?”

“no.” he moves his body close to yours, eyes suddenly pleading as he angles his forearm to your face. “baby, do it again.” 

“oh my god, ‘toru–”

“wh- you started it! do it again!"

you sigh, fighting back the smile on your face and you chomp on the flesh. when you pull back, he’s grinning at you. he wears it like a trophy. a badge of honor. parades it in public when the mark was still there. you would have told him to stop (you did. multiple times) if he didn’t look good in those loose, sleeveless tanks you’d usually see him wear when he’s working out. 

he did ask you, though, after you bit into his arm again. 

“what was that about?”

“love language.”

“that– is that really?”

“... cuteness aggression type of love language?” you try to explain. satoru nods, then says, “yeah that makes sense.” then he grins. “so you found me cute?”

you huff. “oh, shut up.”

the second time you bit him, he bit you back. he didn’t even flinch the second he felt your teeth sink into his skin, and then he turns to you again, grinning, before caging you in his arms to bite your cheeks. 

you squeal, “‘toru!” 

he doesn’t let up, lightly pulling at your cheek and you giggle. “hey! you’re slobbering on me– toruu–” you squirm to move away from him. “hey!!”

“what?” he grins, watching you rub at your cheeks. “you said it yourself. love language.”

“yeah but– hey! hey no!” your protests are drowned by giggles as he pulls you closer, mouth wide as he chomps on your cheeks. again. “toru! ewww-” you push his face away. “you’re slobbering on me!” 

you try to keep your lips in a firm line, only to devolve into a giggling mess as satoru chomps on your cheek. 

anyways, that now ends up with the both of you biting each other.

you bite him, he bites back. it's gentle, but sometimes, both of you end up with bite marks that last for quite a while. yeah, he’s into biting. you are too. it's a love language.  

[jynerie]

Nanami Kento, who you met on a vacation with your friends in Malaysia. It was by chance, you had left the same hotel at the same time, heading to the same beach nearby. You noticed him. Of course you did– a tall, very handsome man here? You didn’t shoot your shot, despite your friends urging you too. I mean, with someone that handsome, he probably has someone. Right?

Nanami Kento, who approached you first. Simply just to help you, after he saw you struggle a bit when a vendor spoke to you in Malay and could not understand a word of English. He stepped in just in time before you gave up, and he paid for you. “You don’t have to-” You were quickly shut up when he smiled at you gently, voice low and a bit husky, “I insist.” You folded.

Nanami Kento, who was immediately entranced by you the moment he saw you. He just didn’t know how to approach you, and when he saw an opportunity? Well, he took it. 

Nanami Kento, who is quick to start a conversation with you. A vacation? What a coincidence. Ah, so you came with your friends? How have you been enjoying Malaysia so far? — you answered them with a bounce to your step and a smile that he enjoyed seeing, and even offered your own questions. It was obvious that you were into each other, really. (You caught your friend giving you a thumbs up when they saw you two talking up a storm).

Nanami Kento, whose number you got after the long conversation, and whose company became a frequency every time you head out when your friends didn’t want to or they had their own different agenda’s. 

Nanami Kento, who you began to fall in love with throughout your vacation. He also was obviously falling for you as well— but your departure dates loom over your heads each day you meet. 

Nanami Kento, whose plane leaves a week earlier than yours. 

Nanami Kento, who, the night before he had to leave, confessed to you, and expressed his intent to continue seeing you even after he leaves. He was serious. And in that moment, you realize that you, as well, are serious about this relationship. 

Nanami Kento, who boards the plane, after giving your waving figure one last longing glance, with a picture of the two of your in hand (courtesy of your friend insisting on a polaroid picture), a light kiss mark on his cheek that he forgot or was too dazed to remove, and a promise to call you the moment he arrives back home.

[jynerie]

mistagged one post mb guys 😭 i was on autopilot at that time and didnt notice it was mistagged 💔

[crude-saint-deactivated20260130]

i’d like to think that dating nanami in college before he’d grown into himself and before he’d exuded dilf energy, he was incredibly awkward. fumbling with his frames when he’d first asked you out, standing quietly beside you when you ran into your friends and chatted with them like an accessory, not knowing exactly what to say when you’d be hit on right in front of him.

he’d be wildly clingy, immediately on you when you’d get back to his dorm, peppering kisses desperately along you with a fervent need to mark you, let everyone know you were his despite feeling nervous to speak up.

his friends would taunt him for it, wondering how on earth he’d pulled a girl like you.

it’d make more sense once he’d gained his confidence and allure just a mere few years later.

[jynerie]

the moment you first held hands, gojo satoru was already imagining your wedding. 

the venue, the color scheme, the details? already in mind, with additional tweaks according to your preferences when the time comes.

his mind is working a mile a minute, listing down boutique names to look for your dress, what his suit would look like, flowers, possibly a band or something. 

satoru is meticulously going through a wedding checklist like he already proposed. well, in his head, he did. with the above and beyond “will you marry me” written out in sand, or with rose petals, or maybe jetplane smoke, plus the fancy dinner reservation, plus what dress you could wear, what the ring would look like— oh, that man has it planned.

he’s on his knees, begging, to already be at the altar with you in your wedding dress, and vows that speak for forever. 

but you just held hands. 

hey, let a man have hobbies… right?

if this was just from simple holding hands, imagine the moment you have your first kiss?

satoru’s imagining your children. 

two kids. one boy, one girl. he’ll call his son a little champ, the girl his little princess.

would they look like him? 

would they be like you more? 

what if they were a perfect mixture of you and him? 

god, he’ll have a list of names in his head. highlighted, in bold and italicised. stupid names, good names, probably a few satoru jr. mentioned in the list. 

[barbieandkento]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synposis: soulmate!AU. nanami begins to find things that don't belong to him in his apartment. lipgloss. a single sock. a hair dryer. and in the middle of it all, a fluffy turtle keychain he wishes to give back to his unknown but destined lover. word count: 2.5k

it starts with a plush keychain.

nothing too loud or flashy, just a fluffy yellow turtle with a metal clip on.

gojo nearly falls out of his chair when he spots it tucked between nanami's array of books and reading glasses. it's clearly out of place, cute and plush against the pristine cleanliness and monochromatic chic of nanami's apartment, and nanami doesn't harbor any secret children (that gojo knows of).

"and whoooooose is this? or more likely, which lady's is this?" gojo sing songs, dangling the keychain from his pinky finger. nanami sighs, his back turned to gojo as his coffee finishes brewing, the clipped comment dying in his mouth when he spots what the silver haired man is holding.

nanami has a near photographic memory of everything in his apartment. he's damn near curated every inch of his living space. at first he thinks it's a joke.

"where'd you even get that, gojo." he grumbles, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.

"it was right here on your bedside table." gojo scoffs at the accusation.

the black coffee burns nanami's throat on the way down.

"if this is some kind of a prank, i'm afraid it's not that funny."

gojo actually pouts at that, like a little child that's been told off, before crossing his arms.

"I'm being serious, nanami! It was laying right here in between your books!" he pauses, before breaking into a big smile. "So you're either hiding a girl-"

"i'm not seeing anyone."

"or this is... the sign."

nanami pretends not to know, in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat.

"what sign?"

gojo's eyes widen.

"what sign? are you hearing yourself? this is your soulmate's lost item! this is so exciting! we have to celebrate! I have to text everyone we know, arrange flowers, there's this amazing restaurant downtown that does the most incredible s-"

whilst his friend rattles on, nanami's eyes remain fixated on the little turtle now sitting on his kitchen table, warmth blooming across his chest. he'd heard the stories of course. soulmates' lost possessions ending up in each other's homes. but he hadn't gotten his hopes up. not everyone in the world would have a soulmate. nor would it be so easy to say with certainty that finding strange items in your house would be attributable to a soulmate. but this...

his hands moved on their own accord, left hand brushing up against the toy. the keychain was soft in his hands, yellow fur and black stitched smile.

"and- hello? are you even listening to me?!"

nanami hums, if only to placate gojo, whose short attention span has now been diverted by a new text from geto. when gojo rushes out the apartment door, stealing a pack of mochi from the kitchen counter whilst rushing out goodbyes, nanami doesn't even bother to look up from where he's standing.

leaning up against the marble countertops of his kitchen, twisting and examining the soft plush from all angles. his heart flutters at the realization that he's holding something that belongs to... his one and only.

patting the small head of the toy turtle, he tucks it into his coat pocket, vowing to reunite it with its owner in the future.

a week later, on a lazy Sunday morning, he finds lipgloss where his extra toothpaste should be.

but not just a tube of lipgloss.

an array of different lipglosses of all shades - dark burgundy, cherry red, barbie pink, soft pink, sparkly peach. it makes nanami's head spin, pulling down one tube of lipgloss after another that have magically appeared in his bathroom mirror cabinet.

examining each one with surgical precision, he notices that one of the shades are clearly more used up than another. barbie pink. he makes a mental note of this, carefully placing away the lipglosses in a spare toiletry bag he keeps under the sink.

over the course of a month, that bag becomes filled with little remnants of his soulmate. nearly empty perfume bottles. a single sock with a print of a golden retriever. multi colored hair ties. a small travel sized shampoo and body wash set. these items appear randomly and suddenly without warning, often when he's having a bad day.

a late 1am return from work, his head pounding from exhaustion and dehydration? he nearly steps on the perfume bottle laying on the floor near his bedroom door. it's clearly well loved, with only a third or so left, and smells distinctively of vanilla and lavender.

a 7am rush as the city wakes up behind him, the streets of tokyo buzzing with energy as he clips on his shoes? he finds a multi pack of hair ties sitting neatly in between the gaps of his shoes in the cupboard.

nanami even almost misses the single sock - navy blue with a golden retriever print on it - hanging from his closet when he's cleaning, because of how natural it looks. when he takes it off from the rack, he turns it over in his hand and smiles: imagining how nice it would be to have her cardigan draped over his couch and pairs of socks tucked into his closet.

now whenever nanami can't sleep, he imagines what his soulmate looks like. is she tall? short? shy? extroverted? a coffee person or a tea person? the type to laugh loudly with her whole chest and heart, or giggle silently to herself in an effort to hide her laugh?

his hands inevitably find the soft turtle keychain sitting by his bed, stroking its fur and imagining what it would be like to hold her hand instead, as his mind starts to drift off to sleep.

he wonders if she'd have some things of his as well. nanami isn't a forgetful or clumsy type of person, but he is human. he can't really name the last thing he's lost - maybe a bookmark or a reusable straw - but he sometimes wonders if he should purposefully forget something so it would end up at her place.

he's not even sure if that's how these things work.

autumn fades into winter, the cold nights bearable only with the surprise of what he might find in his apartment today. he's actually disappointed when he returns to an 'empty' house, everything in place and just as he remembered. he starts to think the universe is playing a cruel joke on him (or that she's gotten good at keeping track of her things) when a full month goes by with no lost items appearing in his place.

then, he spots a portable charger that's not compatible with his phone lying on his bed, and he knows he has her back.

and when he finds three missing items in the span of one week during a particularly rough December - a fraying picnic blanket with square patterns, a pair of fluffy thigh high boots, and an expensive looking hair dryer - he wonders if she's losing these things on purpose.

all in all, his apartment is no longer looking like a one bed bachelor suite belonging to a single salary man. but more of a couple's living space with his and hers items adorning every shelf and table.

it's gotten to the point that having people over - even for a few minutes - is difficult, without being subject to many eyebrow raises and accusations of dating behind his friends' backs.

as the months now stretch into spring, the frostbite of winter melting away into gentle spring breezes and early sunrises, nanami finds himself getting impatient. when will he meet her?

he knows it's foolish, to even think that it'll happen. the fact that he's even been given a soulmate is something to be grateful for. but there's an ache that nibbles on the side of his ribs, a buzzing anticipation that never leaves his mind when he stands in the middle of a crowded place.

in every train station. public crossing. jam packed bar filled with cigarette smoke. he looks for her, one hand always in his coat pocket, stroking the soft pet turtle that started it all. he imagines it'll be like the movies, he'll come across a stranger and he'll just know.

his stomach will flutter, his vision will blur, and his heart will instantly make the connection.

but it never happens, much to his disappointment.

it's now April, a few months to summer. the cherry blossoms are finally out and nanami needs a morning run to clear his mind. a quick shot of espresso and light stretches in his living room are all he needs before his shoes are hitting the pavement, dodging cyclists and pedestrians enjoying their gentle 7am walk.

a few laps in the park later, he's back in his apartment just in time to fold his running clothes for the washing machine and take a long shower.

a man of routine, he combs his hair and applies his meticulous skincare routine, counting downards from ten. whilst adjusting his tie, he inspects his suit for any faults and finishes by spraying himself with the same vanilla and lavender perfume of his soulmate's.

lastly, out of habit, he makes sure that the turtle keychain is kept safe and secured in his coat pocket.

clipping on his watch on his wrist, nanami doesn't look onto the street as he exits the elevator. he collides with a body, the stranger letting out a surprised yelp and the sound of iced coffee splashing the pavement.

"I am so very sorry." nanami immediately says, lowering his glasses to look at you right in your eyes. you thankfully don't seem mad, just a bit sheepish, as you accept his left hand to stand back up on your wobbly feet.

"no worries. i should've been walking so fast." you try and laugh it off, your brain going haywire at just how good looking this guy is. he's blonde, tall, clearly athletic - from how the tight fitting suit is hugging his body - with a jawline that could kill.

he even smells like your favorite perfume, vanilla and lavender.

"not at all, i was preocuppied with my thoughts and didn't look onto the street before stepping out." nanami quips, eyes falling onto the spilled coffee. "could i buy you a new coffee as an apology?"

"oh, i don't want to bother you-" you start, though internally you want nothing more but to keep talking to this handsome stranger.

"please, you wouldn't be." he assures you, heart fluttering at how wide and genuine your smile seems to be when you accept. when you bend over to pick up the split coffee cup, his eyes land on your socks and his throat dries up.

mismatched socks. one plain black sock. and the other, a navy blue sock with a very familiar golden retriever print.

'stay calm, nanami.' he scolds himself as you walk alongside him on the way to the cafe, quiet conversation filling the air about what you both do for work. 'this could mean anything. it could just be a popular sock brand.'

the conversation is easy. you're witty, kind, you hold his bicep to stop him from walking into traffic when he doesn't realize the light has suddenly turned red. then, you get all embarassed, apologizing for grabbing onto his arm without asking.

it makes his heart so warm.

and when you arrive at the cafe, casually slinging your bag over to the other shoulder whilst ordering, he notices the array of keychains hanging from your bag.

his heart skips another beat.

"you like my keychains?" you ask with a quiet laugh, noticing how intensely he's staring at your bag. "i'm a bit of a collector with these things. i just think they make my bags look more... unique and cute."

"do they each tell a story?" he quips, lips curling at the end. god, he finds you so cute, especially when your eyes light up whilst delving into detail about each keychain.

"..but my favorite one I lost sometime last year." you say, thanking the barista as you accept the drinks. your fingers brush against his when you pass him his black americano.

walking side by side on the pavement, nanami's heart beats irregularly at that declaration, but you're none the wiser. only innocently tilting your head sideways and asking if his coffee is good.

"it's great." he lies, as if the bitter coffee isn't burning his throat from the anticipation bubbling in his stomach.

fuck it.

"what was it?" he blurts out, unable to keep it in.

"what was?" you ask, confused.

"the keychain you lost."

"a turtle." you say with a small laugh, licking away the foam of coffee on your lips. "silly, i know but my cousin got it for me."

he stops breathing for a second.

"... was it a yellow turtle by any chance?"

nanami stops in his tracks. you two are back in front of the apartment where he bumped into you. his blood is rushing so loud in his ears that he's worried you can hear it, as your eyes widen in surprise.

"h-how'd you..."

"a fluffy yellow turtle with white fins and a black stitched smile?" he finishes, smile so fond and wide that it blinds you.

you're at a complete loss for words, the gravity of the situation beginning to settle in, when he suddenly takes out (from his coat pocket) the very keychain you had lost and sorely missed.

"i've got it. and every other thing you've misplaced for the past year."

you stare at his open palm in disbelief, eyes carefully examining the object as you take the keychain from his hands and feel its fur against your fingertips. your heart is thundering in your chest, your soulmate smiling at you so brightly.

"i'm nanami, by the way. nanami kento." he introduces himself, ever so the gentleman.

"(y/n). (y/n) (l/n)."

there's an uniterrupted beat of silence, with nanami staring at you so intensely with burning adoration and you suddenly feeling the rush of embarrassment of how much you've lost in the past year.

"oh god, did you really keep everything i've lost?" you groan, nearly whining.

he only chuckles.

"yes i did. neatly categorized and filed in my apartment." he pauses, surveying your reaction. "would you like to come up and see?"

"yes." you say too quickly, before you're shaking your head sideways in an effort to calm yourself. "i mean, yes, uh, that'd be nice."

he turns to let you in, before he turns back around abruptly, stopping you in your tracks. you stare up at him, confused.

he only smiles, soft and gentle.

"hold on." nanami says, stepping closer to you. you're overwhelmed by his scent, mix of aftershave and vanilla lavender perfume, and how gentle his hands are when he takes the turtle keychain from your left hand.

he clips it onto your bag, giving it a gentle tug to ensure it's secure.

"there. don't lose it again." he says lowly, but there's a hint of teasing to his tone.

"and if i do?" you ask quietly, teasing him back, letting him drag you through the doors of his apartment.

nanami takes your hand, but this time, he doesn't let it go.

"you can come back to me."

a/n: ahhhh my first ever fic! i'm absolutely obsessed with nanami at the moment so i wanted to write something sweet for him. i remember reading a marvel fic with this soulmate AU idea a few years ago (soulmates find each other's lost possession in their apartment) so i wanted to give it a spin.

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[barbieandkento]

downbad!gojo who needs to be holding your hand wherever you are. in bed whilst trying to sleep. in the kitchen when you're attempting to make dinner. walking anywhere, with him dragging you around tokyo with the energy of a newborn puppy. it's especially bad when he's driving, as you have to chastise him to keep both his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road so you two don't crash. (he barely listens).

downbad!gojo who has a million photos of you saved onto his phone. he's even organized them into different folders - photos of you sleeping, candid shots of you that he looks at when he's sad or missing you, even 'ugly' photos of you that you've begged him to delete but he can't find it in his heart to do so because they're lowkey amongst his favorite.

downbad!gojo who has you as his lockscreen and will talk about you for hours to anyone who has the (dis)pleasure of asking who the person on his background is. he's missed several trains by talking strangers' ears off about you that now he has several alarms on his phone set to 30 minutes, 15 minutes, and 10 minutes before his train departs so that he's forced to end the conversation short.

downbad!gojo who lets you steal a bite of his food - hell, he'll even swap dishes with you if you don't like what you've ordered - but will absolutely lose his shit if anyone else, like geto, asks him to do the same. gojo's also not the best cook, but he'll attempt to make you breakfast in bed on anneversaries and special occasions, and you always rewards with a gentle kiss and a bright smile. (even if he almost burns down the apartment in the process).

downbad!gojo who gets jealous very easily. like, very, very easily. you're not giving him attention 24/7? someone is looking at you for 0.4 seconds too long? someone dares to compliment you, his sweetheart, his one and only?! he's immediately "marking his territory" as he calls it. (expect a lot of loud obnoxious announcements of how proud he is to be your boyfriend, messy and sudden makeout sessions in public whilst he glares at the person he thinks was flirting with you, his hands never leaving your waist/ass as he stands unmoving next to you).

downbad!gojo who lives for taking care of you. rough day? he's already drawing a bath with bath bombs and bubbles. sad? he's willing to sit with you in the dark, hugging you close to his chest, letting you cry or talk as much as you want - whatever you need, he'll give. sick? he's bought nearly half of the medications supply at the pharmacy and spends hours re-adjusting your pillows, giving you more blankets, and giving you many forehead kisses so you feel better.

downbad!gojo who, despite only dating you for three months, already knows he's going to marry you. he dreams about how he'll propose each night whilst you fall asleep in his arms, and when he's bored, he brainstorms what names he'll give your future kids/pets. (if anyone asks him about it, he'll say he's ✨ manifesting ✨ and not delusional).

a/n: i need a downbad!gojo 🥺 first time writing a lil drabble, enjoyed it more than i thought! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[jynerie]

gojo satoru is the type to blow up your phone the moment he misses you. and that is five minutes after you leave, or he leaves the house. no, scratch that– the second he is not in your presence, your phone blow up with kicked puppy memes, heartbroken stickers, and voice messages of his crying plus additional whining chats of

babyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy :((((((((((((((((((((( :((( :(((

i miss u :(( </3 </3

in different variations.

you learned to just send a heart emoji, a voice message saying you miss him too, a promise of seeing him later or a face call, and he’s satiated. 

only for the next hour– if he’s not busy. 

At this point, it comes with the territory of loving gojo satoru. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.