Nanami Kento has a specific scent profile, expensive bergamot shaving cream, high-end laundry detergent, and a faint, metallic trace of cursed energy. He uses this sensory consistency to ground himself. When he’s around you, he consciously tries to suppress the scent of his own exhaustion.
He is an expert at reading a room, but he is a coward when it comes to reading you. If he catches you looking at him in a way that feels too soft, he will immediately check his watch or adjust his glasses to break the connection. It’s his only defense mechanism against losing his composure.
He keeps a mental "risk assessment" of every mission you go on. If the danger level rises even 1%, he subtly shifts his positioning to be your shield, framing it as "tactical efficiency" rather than the desperate protective instinct it actually is.
The rain in Tokyo didn't just fall; it smothered. It was a thick, humid downpour that turned the neon lights of Shinjuku into blurry smears of pink and blue. You and Nanami had been tracking a Grade 1 manifestation through the subway tunnels for six hours.
By the time the curse was exorcised, shattered by your combined technique and Nanami’s surgical precision, it was 10:00 PM. Overtime. "The paperwork can wait until tomorrow," Nanami said, his voice raspy. He was leaning against the tiled wall of an abandoned maintenance corridor, his suit jacket draped over one arm. His shirt was damp, clinging to the broad lines of his shoulders, and his hair, usually so perfectly slicked back, had begun to fall in stray, golden threads over his forehead.
"You're saying that? The man who lives for a schedule?" you teased, though your own lungs felt like they were filled with cotton. He looked at you then. Truly looked at you. The fluorescent lights flickered, casting long shadows. "I am saying that I am hungry, you are bleeding from a scratch on your cheek, and neither of us is fit for a pen."
The walk back to the high school was silent, save for the rhythmic splash of your boots. You ended up in his apartmenta rare occurrence. It was a space of brutalist minimalism, clean lines, expensive wood, and a chilling lack of personal clutter.
"Sit," he commanded softly, pointing to the kitchen island. He didn't offer a drink; he simply placed a glass of water and a first-aid kit in front of you. As he began to clean the shallow cut on your cheek, the air in the room shifted. Flirting with Nanami was usually a game of tennis where he refused to swing the racket. You’d toss a compliment, he’d return a dry observation about the economy. You’d lean into his space; he’d step back to check the time.
But tonight, he didn't step back. "You were reckless today," he murmured. His fingers were cool against your skin, smelling of antiseptic and rain. "I was efficient," you countered, tilting your head up. "I knew you were right behind me. You always are." Nanami’s hand paused. His thumb remained anchored just below your jawline. The proximity was dangerous. You could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight tremble in his exhaled breath.
"That is a dangerous assumption to make," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am not a safety net. I am a man." "I'm well aware of what you are, Kento." You let your gaze drop to his lips, then back to his eyes. "Though sometimes I wonder if you’ve forgotten."
He pulled back, but only an inch. The tension was a physical weight, a cursed energy of its own making. "I haven't forgotten. I am simply... disciplined. A concept you seem to struggle with."
"Discipline is just another word for being afraid to lose control," you whispered. You reached out, your fingers ghosting over the knot of his necktie, the tie he used as a weapon, the tie that represented his restraint. "How long has it been since you let yourself be 'inefficient'?"
Nanami’s eyes darkened. For months, he had calculated this. He had weighed his feelings for you like a ledger. On one side, the danger of your jobs, the need for professional distance, the fear of losing a partner. On the other side, the way you laughed at his cynicism, the way you looked in the morning light at the office, and the agonizing physical pull he felt every time your shoulders brushed in a crowd. The ledger was no longer balanced.
"You have been poking at me for months," he said, his voice a low growl. He didn't move away as you slowly began to undo the silk knot at his throat. "Testing the boundaries. Seeing how much I can endure." "And?" you challenged, the tie coming loose in your hand. "What’s the verdict, Grade 1?"
He moved so fast your breath hitched. One hand slammed onto the counter beside your hip, the other gripped the back of your chair, effectively pinning you between the cold marble and his heat. He didn't touch you yet, but the sheer size of him dominated your vision.
"The verdict," he breathed, leaning in until your foreheads touched, "is that I am at my limit. I have reached the end of my patience, the end of my shift, and the end of my resolve." He looked like a man possessed, not by a curse, but by a hunger he had starved for years. The "7:3" ratio of his life had collapsed into a singular, overwhelming 100%.
"Then stop talking," you said, your voice breaking. "Stop being a sorcerer for five minutes and just be Kento."
He didn't kiss you gently. It was an explosion of everything he’d been holding back, the months of "good mornings," the shared coffees, the silent vigils over your hospital bed. It was desperate and heavy.
His hand moved from the chair to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. He kissed you with a ferocity that spoke of a man who had finally stopped counting the seconds and started living them.
When he finally pulled back to breathe, his forehead remained pressed against yours. His glasses were crooked, his breathing labored. "I told you," he panted, his eyes searching yours with a raw vulnerability that broke your heart. "I told you it was a mistake to push me."
"It's the best mistake I've ever made," you replied, reaching up to finally slide his glasses off his face, setting them on the counter. Without the lenses, his gaze was piercing, stripped of his professional armor. He looked at you, not as a colleague, not as a sorcerer, but as the only thing in this miserable, curse-filled world that made sense.
"I can't promise you a normal life," he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, now swollen from his kiss. "I can't even promise you tomorrow."
"I don't want a normal life," you said, pulling him back down by his loosened collar. "I just want this. Right now. Overtime be damned." Nanami let out a low, shaky laugh, the first true sound of joy you’d heard from him since he returnedto the jujutsu world. He scooped you up from the stool, his strength effortless, and began to walk toward the bedroom.
"In that case," he murmured against your ear, "I suppose we should make sure the work is... thorough."
The rain continued to lash against the window, but inside, the cold precision of Kento Nanami had finally melted away, replaced by the fire of a man who had finally decided that some things were worth the loss of control.
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: haven't been active because of school and work and stuff 😔 so I just pumped one nanami fic out
Baby Daddy! Toji Fushiguro who claims he’s only dropping by to fulfill a basic obligation, but his version of "providing" is borderline excessive. You’ll find high-end groceries and designer baby clothes left on the counter without a word, all paid for with "consultancy" money he won't explain, even tho later that week he'll venmo request you cigarette money.He watches you more than he watches the baby, his eyes tracking every tired sigh or stray hair you tuck behind your ear, silently calculating exactly how much cash it would take to make sure you never have to work a day again.
Despite the distance between you, Toji is hyper-aware of your physical presence due to his sharpened senses. He can hear your heartbeat skip from across the room and recognizes the scent of your shampoo before he even knocks on the door. He’ll often lean in close, closer than a "co-parent" should, under the guise of checking on the kid, just so he can inhale the scent of your skin and remind himself that you’re real and you’re still his in the ways that matter to him.
He has a terrifyingly quiet way of marking his territory without ever making an official claim. If he sees a new name on your phone or hears you mention a male "friend," his energy shifts from lazy lethargy to a predatory stillness that makes the air feel heavy. He won't pick a fight with you, but he’ll linger in your doorway a little longer, using the summer heat to go around shirtless and scarred, just to ensure any neighbors or visitors know exactly what kind of man is coming and going from your apartment.
Toji isn't a "talker," but he remembers every mundane detail you’ve ever mentioned about your routine. He’ll fix a leaky faucet or a creaky floorboard without you asking because he knows it’s been bothering you, doing the work with a practiced, effortless grace. When he looks at you, there’s an aching honesty in his gaze that says he knows he’s a mess, but he’d still tear the world apart if it meant keeping your little domestic bubble intact.
Even when things are tense, he can’t help but touch you, a hand on the small of your back to guide you past a corner, or his thumb brushing yours when you hand him a bottle. He treats these moments like accidents, but the heat in his touch is deliberate and lingering. It’s a silent confession that while he might have left the "relationship" behind, he’s never been able to leave you, and he uses the kid as the ultimate excuse to stay within your orbit.
The rain was a dull hum against the windowpane, blurring the city lights into smudges of neon. Inside, the apartment was warm, smelling of baby powder and the lingering scent of the dinner you’d barely finished. You were swaying gently, the weight of your child a familiar ache in your arms, when the heavy, rhythmic thud at the door sounded. You didn't need to check the peephole. Nobody else knocked with that kind of grounded, effortless authority.
When you opened it, Toji was standing there, damp from the walk, wearing a black compression shirt that looked like a second skin over his massive frame. He didn't say "hello." He just stepped inside, the chill of the night rolling off his shoulders, and reached out to take the diaper bag you’d left slumped near the door.
"He's almost out," you whispered, nodding toward the sleepy bundle in your arms.
Toji’s eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, as he looked down at his kid. He didn't reach for the baby immediately; he knew his hands were cold. Instead, he just followed you into the small bedroom, his presence shrinking the space until it felt like the walls were closing in around the two of you.
The process of putting the baby down was a silent dance you’d performed a dozen times before. You leaned over the crib, carefully transitioning the weight, while Toji stood directly behind you. He didn't touch you, but the heat radiating from his body was like a furnace. You could hear his steady, deep breathing, a contrast to your own, which had become shallow the moment he stepped into the room.
Once the baby was settled, the silence became heavy. You turned around, and he was there, a wall of muscle and scars, blocking the exit. His eyes were dark, hooded, and fixed entirely on your face.
"You look tired," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in your chest. "It’s been a long week, Toji. You could have called before coming over."
"I was in the neighborhood," he lied. You both knew he’d probably driven an hour just to spend twenty minutes in your air. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near your neck before finally committing, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You're always working too hard. Making things difficult for yourself."
"Someone has to be the responsible one," you bit back, though the edge was lost as you leaned just an inch into his palm. "I told you I'd handle the money," he muttered, stepping closer until your chests were almost touching. "I told you I’d take care of everything. You’re stubborn."
"I don't want your blood money, Toji. I want stability. I want someone who stays." He let out a sharp, self-deprecating huff of a laugh. "You know what I am. I don't 'stay.' But I keep coming back to you, don't I?"
The honesty in his voice was a physical strike. He wasn't a good man, and he wasn't a boyfriend, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that hadn't let him down, was intoxicating. He shifted his grip, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back.
The first kiss was meant to be a provocation, a sharp, testing press of lips, but it dissolved instantly into something desperate. Toji groaned into your mouth, his other hand finding your waist and hauling you flush against him. He tasted like the rain and something darkly sweet, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.
He backed you out of the nursery and into the living room, never breaking the contact. His movements were fluid and powerful, pinning you against the cool surface of the wall. The contrast between the soft silence of the sleeping child in the next room and the sudden, violent heat between the two of you was dizzying.
"Toji," you breathed against his lips, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, feeling the ridged muscles of his back beneath. "We shouldn't... this doesn't change anything."
"I know," he growled, his mouth moving down to the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to leave a mark. "It changes nothing. You still hate me, and I’m still a as shitty as I was."
He hiked your thigh up over his hip, his large hand anchoring you to him. The friction of his heavy denim against your skin, the sheer mass of him crushing you into the wall, it was too much and not enough. He was breathing like he’d just run a mile, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second as he struggled for control.
"But you're the only thing that makes me feel like I’m actually standing on the ground," he whispered, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability.
He didn't wait for an answer. He captured your lips again, harder this time, his hands becoming more urgent as they slid under your shirt. The air in the apartment felt thick, charged with years of unspoken resentment and an attraction that neither of you could outrun. In the dark, with only the sound of the rain and the rhythmic thud of his heart against yours, it was easy to forget that you weren't "together." In this moment, with his hands exploring every curve of your body as if he were trying to memorize you, he was yours and he was never going to let you forget it.
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: Idk what's my obsession with making out but never writing smut but oh well🤷♀️
Loser!Megumi Fushiguro is known on campus as the guy who lives in the third-floor library cubicles, usually hidden behind a stack of ancient-looking literature or grueling biology textbooks. He’s the quintessential "loser" only by social definition, he doesn't attend games, ignores the group chats, and wears the same oversized black hoodie so often people wonder if he owns other clothes.
Despite his lack of effort, his cold "don't talk to me" energy actually makes him a bit of a campus cryptid. He’s a scholarship student who prefers the company of the stray dogs behind the cafeteria to the frat brothers in the quad. He’s incredibly bright but has zero interest in the social hierarchy, which makes his secret relationship with a campus socialite(aka you) seem like a glitch in the university’s matrix.
He treats his social obligations like a chore list, viewing parties as loud, unhygienic petri dishes for bad decisions and cheap beer. However, his one massive weakness is his inability to say "no" to you, leading to a dynamic where he’ll spend four hours leaning against a sticky wall just to ensure you get home safely, even if he looks like he’s undergoing a root canal the entire time.
The air in the Alpha Delta Pi house was thick enough to chew. It was a cocktail of cheap cologne, spilled vodka, and the frantic, humid energy of three hundred students trying to forget they had midterms in forty-eight hours. You were right in the center of it, perched on the arm of a leather sofa, laughing at a story someone was telling, though your eyes kept darting toward the heavy oak front door.
When he finally walked in, he looked like he’d stumbled into a war zone by accident. Megumi was wearing his standard black uniform, hoodie, dark jeans, and a scowl that could freeze the punch bowl. He stood by the entrance for a full minute, looking like he was contemplating immediate retreat, until your eyes locked.
You hopped off the sofa, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. "You actually came!" you cheered, pitching your voice loud enough for the benefit of the curious onlookers. To everyone else, you were the popular social butterfly being "charitable" to the campus loner.
"I’m already regretting it," Megumi muttered, his voice a low vibration beneath the bass of the music. "It smells like a gym locker and bad decisions in here. Why is the floor vibrating? That can't be structurally sound."
"It’s called a speaker, Megumi. Try to relax," you whispered, leaning in close enough that your shoulder brushed his. To the room, it looked like a playful nudge. To him, it was a spark of heat.
"I have a lab report due Monday," he complained, though he let you lead him toward the kitchen. "I could be halfway through my citations right now. Instead, I’m watching a guy withou a shirt try to do a keg stand. He’s going to have a concussion before midnight."
"Just one hour," you promised, handing him a red solo cup filled with water. You knew he wouldn't touch the "jungle juice."
He took the cup, his long fingers wrapping around the plastic. "You said that forty minutes ago via text. The clock started then."
For the next hour, it was a game of public distance and private tension. You moved through the room, greeting friends and dancing, but you always stayed within his line of sight. Megumi anchored himself in a corner near the back hallway, looking like a gargoyle guarding a cathedral. Every time you glanced back, he was there, looking profoundly bored, his eyes tracking you with a quiet intensity that made your skin tingle.
Occasionally, someone would try to talk to him, usually a brave soul wondering why the "dark and moody guy" was at a frat party. He’d give them one word answers until they awkwardly shuffled away. When you finally circled back to him, he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your ear to be heard over the beat.
"That guy in the blue shirt has been staring at your back for ten minutes," Megumi grumbled, his hand momentarily hovering near your waist before he caught himself and shoved it into his pocket. "This is miserable. My ears are ringing, and someone just spilled something sticky on my shoe. Can we go?"
"The party's just starting!" you teased, though you reached out and caught the drawstring of his hoodie, pulling him an inch closer. "But... I think I left my jacket in the back room. Help me find it?"
Megumi’s eyes darkened, the "loser" persona slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the sharp, focused man beneath. "Fine. But after that, we’re leaving."
You led the way, slipping through the crowded hallway toward the back of the house where the noise began to muffle. Most people were distracted by a beer pong tournament in the dining room, leaving the narrow corridor to the laundry room and the back exit relatively empty.
The moment you pushed open the door to the dark, cramped utility room and stepped inside, Megumi was right behind you. He shut the door, the click of the latch drowned out by a muffled bass drop from the living room.
The silence of the small room was sudden and heavy. "God, I hate these people," Megumi breathed, his voice finally dropping the performative irritation for something much more raw.
He didn't wait. He stepped into your space, his hands coming out of his pockets to cup your face. His palms were cool, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the party. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a long moment, simply inhaling your scent, the one thing in this house that didn't smell like a disaster.
"You were complaining so much I thought you were actually going to leave," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the messy dark spikes of his hair.
"I wanted to," he murmured against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every second. But you look too good in this light, and I knew if I left, someone else would try to talk to you"
He pulled back just enough to look at you, the moonlight filtering through a small, high window hitting the sharp line of his jaw. He looked annoyed, disheveled, and completely devoted. When he finally kissed you, it wasn't the tentative kiss of a "loser" student, it was deep, hungry, and possessive.
Megumi backed you up against the dryer, the cold metal biting into your back while his body provided a wall of heat in front of you. His movements were frantic but precise, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones as he moved his mouth against yours. This was the secret, the version of Fushiguro Megumi that the rest of the campus never got to see. Not the stoic scholar or the antisocial outlier, but the boy who hummed with a quiet, desperate passion whenever the doors were locked.
"We have to go back out there eventually," you breathed into the kiss, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"No," he rasped, trailing his lips down to your jawline. "We're staying here for ten minutes. Then I'm taking you home. I don't care about your 'popularity' or the after party. I'm done sharing you for the night."
You laughed softly, pulling him back up for another kiss. "Spoken like a true party pooper."
"I told you," he muttered, a ghost of a smirk finally appearing on his lips as he leaned in again. "I'm only here for you."
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: I had to research because I know nothing about American style colleges and frats/sororities lol. Any input is welcome.
Being in a poly relationship with Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto as teenagers feels like constantly balancing between chaos and quiet intensity, and somehow being the only thing that keeps both of them grounded at the same time.
Satoru is the first to make it obvious. He does not believe in subtlety, especially not when it comes to feelings. He throws himself into your space without hesitation, draping over you, leaning too close, nudging you constantly just to get your attention. If you are sitting, he is already half on top of you. If you are talking to Suguru, he interrupts just to insert himself into the conversation, not even trying to hide the fact that he wants your focus back on him.
Suguru is the opposite in approach but not in intensity. He does not compete loudly, but he never withdraws either. His presence is steady, deliberate, like he knows you will come to him without needing to demand it. When Satoru gets overwhelming, Suguru is the one who quietly steps in, guiding the situation without making it obvious. A hand on your shoulder, a soft comment that redirects the energy, a look that asks if you are alright without words.
At the start, Satoru struggles with sharing. He is used to being the center of attention, used to being the strongest, the one people orbit around. He struggles with sharing here specifically with your and Sugurus relationship with each other, used to having both of you for himself separately. He becomes more clingy, more physically affectionate, like he is trying to claim space without outright saying it.
Suguru never pushes back aggressively. Instead, he addresses it in a calm, grounded way that forces Satoru to actually think instead of react. He reminds him that this only works if there is trust, not competition. It annoys Satoru at first, but it also stabilizes him.
Over time, Satoru shifts. He does not stop being clingy, but it becomes less about insecurity and more about genuine affection. He still pulls you into his lap, still hooks an arm around Sugurus shoulders, still complains when you two are too far away, but there is less edge to it.
Suguru’s affection is quieter but deeper in a different way. He is the type to remember everything about you without making a big deal out of it. The way you take your tea, what stresses you out, what calms you down. He shows care through consistency. Sitting beside you during long nights, making sure you are not overworking yourself, subtly adjusting things so you are more comfortable.
You start to realize that Satoru gives loudly, while Suguru gives continuously. They balance each other in how they love you and each other.
Satoru brings energy into your life. He makes everything feel brighter, lighter, even when things are stressful. He drags you into playful arguments, challenges you, teases you endlessly. He is also surprisingly perceptive underneath all that chaos. When something is wrong, he notices fast, he just does not always approach it gently.
Suguru brings calm. He gives you space to breathe, to think, to exist without pressure. When you are overwhelmed, he does not try to distract you out of it like Satoru might. He stays, listens, and lets you process things at your own pace.
Satoru’s jealousy is obvious. He gets louder, more touchy, more insistent on your attention. He will interrupt conversations, insert himself physically between you or Suguru and someone else, and make comments that are half jokes but very much not jokes.
Suguru’s jealousy is quieter but heavier. He watches more closely, his gaze lingering longer than usual. He does not interrupt, but when you or Gojo come back to him, his attention is more focused, more intentional, like he is re-centering himself around both of you.
Neither of them likes seeing the other or you too close to others, they just handle it differently.
When the three of you are alone, the dynamic softens.
Satoru is still energetic, but he relaxes more easily when Suguru is there too. There is a familiarity between them that makes everything feel more stable. They have known each other long enough that their movements sync naturally, their conversations flowing without effort.
You often find yourself between them physically without even realizing it. Sitting in the middle, walking with one on each side, lying down with Satoru half draped over you and Suguru close enough that his presence is grounding. It becomes your norm.
Satoru loves physical contact the most. He always finds a way to be touching you, even if it is something small like bumping your shoulder or hooking his fingers into your sleeve. He acts like it is casual, but it is constant.
Suguru is more selective with touch, which makes it feel more significant when he does reach for you. A hand on your back, fingers brushing yours, resting his head near yours when things are quiet. It is never overwhelming, but always intentional.
They also interact through you in subtle ways. Satoru will tease Suguru while leaning on you, clearly using your presence as a buffer. Suguru will respond calmly, but there is always that faint edge of amusement, like he knows exactly what Satoru is doing. Sometimes, they both look at you at the same time, and it feels like being caught in something deeper than just a relationship, like you are part of something they do not fully understand either.
Arguments do happen, especially early on.
Satoru gets frustrated when he feels ignored. Suguru gets frustrated when Satoru acts without thinking. You end up in the middle sometimes, but not in a way that feels like pressure. More like you are the point they both come back to when things get tense. They do not stay angry for long, not when it involves you at least. Over time, they learn each other better through you.
Satoru learns patience, even if only a little. Suguru learns to be more open, more expressive. And you learn how to navigate both of them, how to respond to their differences without losing yourself in it.
It becomes less about managing them and more about understanding the rhythm between all three of you.
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: not proofread, if you notice any mistakes please tell me.
Four times you were being sneaky with Enjin, and the one time you got caught
Content: implied sexual activity near the end but not explicit, lotss of making out tho, wc: 2.4k
The headquarters had a way of swallowing sound at night, long corridors dimmed to a low glow, footsteps softened by polished floors, every door closed like it held its own secrets. It was the kind of place where anything out of the ordinary stood out immediately, which was exactly why the two of you had gotten so good at blending into it. Or at least, thats what you told yourselves.
The first time it happened, it had been accidental. You had been heading back from the storage wing, arms full of files you were absolutely not supposed to be handling alone, when a hand caught your wrist and pulled you sharply into one of the unused side rooms. The door clicked shut behind you before you could even process what was happening, your back brushing against the wall as your breath caught.
Enjin stood in front of you, far too close, his expression composed but his eyes giving him away entirely.“Walking around this late?” he murmured, voice low, teasing already laced into the edges of it. “You’re either very dedicated or very reckless.”. You narrowed your eyes at him, though the heat in your face betrayed you. “Let go.”
He didn’t, instead, his grip shifted, sliding from your wrist to your hand, fingers curling loosely as if he was testing whether you would pull away. You didn’t. That was all the permission he needed. “You should be more careful,” he continued, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath. “Someone might catch you.”
“And you?” you shot back, softer now, your voice losing some of its bite. “What are you doing, then?”. A faint smile touched his lips, subtle but dangerous. “Making sure you don’t get caught.”
The kiss came without warning, quick at first, like he was gauging your reaction, but when you didn’t push him away, it deepened in a way that made your grip on those files falter completely. Papers slipped, scattering across the floor, but neither of you paid them any attention. His hand found your waist, steady, grounding, pulling you just a fraction closer as if he couldn’t quite help himself. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t careless, but there was a tension there, something restrained and deliberate, like he was holding back more than he was showing.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath steadying before yours did. “You’re going to be trouble,” he murmured. You didn’t argue. You just knew he wasn’t wrong.
The second time was not accidental at all. By then, you had fallen into a rhythm, one that existed in the spaces between responsibilities, in stolen moments that neither of you acknowledged out loud.
He found you exactly where he expected. “Waiting for someone?” Enjin asked casually as he approached, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that effortless way he carried himself. You shrugged. “Passing time.” “Mm,” he hummed, unconvinced, stopping just close enough to make your pulse pick up. “Convenient.”
There was a brief pause, charged and quiet, before he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that didn’t match the look in his eyes. “You know,” he added, voice dropping slightly, “you’re not very good at pretending.” “And you are?” you challenged. His smile widened just a fraction. “Not when it comes to you.”
This time, the kiss wasn’t hesitant at all. It was familiar already, like something you had both been thinking about far too often. His hand slid to your waist again, firmer now, pulling you flush against him as your hands found his shoulders, steadying yourself more than anything. There was a confidence to him, something quietly assured, but not overwhelming. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, but still left space for you, like he was paying attention to every small reaction, every shift in your breath.
Your back met the wall again, but softer this time, like he was guiding rather than cornering. “You’re distracting,” he murmured against your lips. “You came to me,” you reminded him, though your voice had softened considerably. “And I’d do it again.”
His fingers traced along your side, slow, deliberate, the touch light but intentional enough to send a shiver through you. He noticed, of course he did, the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his expression. “You feel that?” he asked quietly, almost teasing. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to.
The third time felt like a line had already been crossed, even if neither of you had named it. It was riskier, this time.
The main hall was still active, people moving through in smaller numbers, conversations low but present. You should have been heading back to your quarters.Instead, you turned down a side corridor, and he followed. “You could've picked somewhere closer.” Enjin commented as he stepped in behind you, the door closing softly with a quiet click.
“You didn’t have to come,” you replied, though you didn’t sound entirely serious. “No,” he agreed, stepping closer, his presence filling the space almost immediately. “But I wanted to.”
There was something different in the air this time, heavier, more charged. His hand came to your waist again, but it didn’t stop there. It shifted slightly, more deliberate now, his touch lingering in a way that made your breath catch almost instantly. “You’re dangerous like this,” he murmured, watching your reaction closely. “Then stop,” you said, though there was no real conviction behind it. He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment, as if weighing something, instead of a response a small smirk appeared on his face. That was all you needed to know.
The kiss that followed carried that same certainty, deeper, more consuming without losing that careful control he always had. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking, and that was all the encouragement he needed. His hand pressed more firmly at your side, fingers curling just slightly, grounding you against him and slowly creeping up under your shirt and onto your bare skin. There was nothing rushed about it, nothing careless, but the tension between restraint and want had grown thinner.
The fourth time was the most reckless. It was earlier in the evening, not nearly late enough for this to be safe, the headquarters still very much awake. That alone should have stopped you, but it didn't.
You barely made it into the room before he had you pressed lightly against the door, his hand braced beside your head, his usual composure fraying just enough to show. “You’re testing me,” he said under his breath. “You followed me again,” you pointed out, more smugly than it should've probably been.
A quiet huff of amusement left him. “You make it very hard not to.”. This time, there was less space between actions, less hesitation. The familiarity had turned into something more instinctive, your bodies falling into a rhythm that felt natural, almost inevitable
His touch lingered more boldly now, still controlled, still mindful, but undeniably more certain. Your hands found his shoulders again, then his collar, pulling him closer as if distance had become something neither of you tolerated anymore. His hands slowly found the back of your bra, fingers gently going under the band and lifting it slightly off of your skin.
“You’re going to get us caught,” you whispered, though you didn’t pull away. His lips brushed yours again, slower this time. “Then maybe we should be quieter.” he said as he finally unclasped your bra, both the feeling of relief from the lack of tightness from it and heat rushed your body. You almost laughed at his comment, but the sound never fully left you, swallowed by another kiss that felt dangerously close to losing control.
And maybe you would have. If not for the door opening.
Both of you froze. Zanka stood in the doorway, completely still, eyes wide in a way that suggested he had just walked into something his brain was refusing to process. For a full second, no one dared to speak.
Enjin straightened first, just enough to put space between you while still standing close, removing his hands from you. His expression settled almost instantly, calm returning like it had never left.
Zanka blinked. “…I…” he started, then stopped, clearly at a loss. You could feel the heat rising in your face, but before you could say anything, Enjin spoke. “Well,” he said, tone even, almost conversational, “this is one way to find out.”
Zanka looked like he might combust on the spot. “I didn’t see anything,” he said quickly, turning halfway away, then back again like he didn’t know what direction to commit to. “I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to, I just—”, “It’s fine,” Enjin cut in smoothly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice now. “It’s not fine,” Zanka shot back immediately, still visibly shaken. “This is definitely not fine, do you know what this looks like—”
“Yes,” Enjin replied calmly. “I do.” That only made it worse. Zanka stared at both of you, realization slowly settling in, horror mixing with disbelief. “…Oh,” he said finally.
The door clicks shut behind Zanka in a rush of half-formed words and visible panic, his footsteps retreating faster than usual down the corridor like distance alone might undo what he just saw. Silence settles in the room again. For a brief moment, neither of you moves.
Then Enjin exhales, slow and quiet, and when you look at him, there’s no tension left in his posture, no trace of being caught, no urgency to fix anything. If anything, he looks… amused. His gaze lingers on you, sharp and warm all at once, and then that familiar smirk curves onto his lips, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the situation rather than regretting it.
His eyes flicker over your face, catching every hint of fluster, every uneven breath you haven’t quite managed to steady yet. “You’re adorable like this,” he adds, softer now, teasing but not unkind. “Enjin,” you start, half warning, half exasperated. He doesn’t let you finish.
By the time you're both done, the room is hotter than before, only the sound of clothes shuffling and heavy breathing could be heard.
You both start fixing yourselves without needing to say anything. You smooth out your clothes, adjusting what little had been disturbed, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on your skin. He straightens his collar, runs a hand briefly through his hair, every movement composed, effortless, like he’s done this a thousand times before.
As you come out of the room, slowly making your way down the hall, you can't help but wonder how does he seem so composed after everything.
“Ready?” he asks, glancing at you, that same faint smirk still playing at his lips, pulling you out of your thoughts. You're both infront of the door of the common room, you could slightly hear the talking through the door. You hesitate for half a second, then nod. The door opens, and the moment you step into the common area, everything shifts.
Conversation doesn’t stop entirely, but it dips, stutters, like a ripple moving through the room. A few heads turn immediately, others follow a second later, and suddenly it feels like far more people are looking at you than should be. Zanka is there, of course, he’s trying very hard not to stare, but miserably failing.
The second your eyes meet his, he looks away so fast it’s almost painful, his face still carrying that same shocked, mortified expression, like he hasn’t recovered even slightly. But it’s not just him. Whispers start, quiet but noticeable, glances exchanged between people who are very clearly putting things together faster than you’d like. You feel it instantly, the weight of it, the realization settling in fully now, everyone knows, or at least, enough of them do that it doesn’t matter.
Your steps slow just slightly, but before you can second guess anything, Enjin moves beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brush, he leans in just enough to make it obvious. “Relax,” he murmurs under his breath, just for you, his tone calm, grounding. “They’ll get over it.”, “That’s easy for you to say,” you whisper back. He glances at you, amused again, but there’s something steadier beneath it. “They’re just surprised,” he replies. “I’m not.”
Your gaze flickers up to him, searching. “For what?”, his expression softens just a fraction, the teasing easing into something quieter, more certain. “For this.” His hand brushes yours. Not fully holding, not enough to make a scene, but enough that you feel it, that anyone looking closely would notice.
And judging by the way a few more people suddenly look away, they do. A small, knowing smile returns to his lips as he looks ahead, completely unfazed by the attention, by the whispers, by any of it. Like none of it mattera, like the only thing that does is right there beside him.
And somehow, despite everything, despite the stares and the sudden lack of privacy and the fact that your secret is very much not a secret anymore, you feel it too.
@ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: the end was kinda rushed, so i apologize for it. Im really hyperfixating on Gachiakuta at the moment as you can tell.
The bathroom feels too small for the weight of the moment, though nothing about it has changed.The same pale tiles, the faint hum of the light overhead, the quiet drip of the faucet that neither of you bothered to fully tighten. Everything is ordinary, painfully so, and yet the air feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath along with you.
Choso Kamo stands close, closer than usual.
Since you started trying, he’s rarely been more than an arm’s length away, his presence constant in a way that is both grounding and telling. He doesn’t hover loudly or anxiously like others might. Instead, his care manifests in quiet, deliberate ways, his hand resting at your lower back when you stand too long, the way he watches your steps like he’s memorizing them, the subtle shifts in his expression whenever the topic of a child comes up, hope flickering there so carefully guarded it almost hurts to look at.
He hadn't even been sure it was possible. He was, after all, half curse and half human. Something that had never meant to follow a normal life, let alone create one. And yet, he wanted it. He wanted it more than anything.
Wanted it with a depth that ran older than reason, tied to something instinctual, something ancient in him that longed to protect, to belong, to build something that wasn’t rooted in loneliness.
So now he stands beside you, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the small test resting on the counter like it holds the answer to something far bigger than either of you can fully grasp. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but is holding himself back, afraid to disturb the fragile stillness of the moment.
“Whatever it says…” he starts, voice low, steady in that careful way he uses when he’s trying to anchor himself, “we’ll be alright.” It sounds like reassurance meant for you, but both of you know it isn't. You can hear it in the slight strain beneath his calm, the way his gaze doesn’t leave the test, like looking away might change the outcome.
The silence stretches. Seconds feel like minutes. And then, without even meaning to, you see it.
For a moment, your brain doesn’t quite process it. The lines, the result, it feels unreal, like your eyes are misreading something so simple because the meaning behind it is too large, too overwhelming to settle all at once.
“…Choso,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. He reacts instantly. “What is it?” He steps closer, quicker this time, hesitation gone as his eyes snap to your face, searching, scanning for any sign, fear, disappointment, anything. You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn the test toward him.
Choso goes still. Completely, utterly still, like the world has pressed pause around him.His eyes lock onto the result, unblinking, as if he needs to make sure it’s real, that it won’t disappear if he looks away for even a second.
“…It’s…” he starts, but the words don’t come. His throat tightens, breath catching in a way that’s almost silent, but you feel it, see it in the subtle tremor that runs through him, in the way his composure fractures so suddenly it’s almost fragile.“You’re…?”, you nod. That’s all it takes.
Something in him breaks open, consuming rush of emotion that he doesn’t even try to contain. He pulls you into him immediately. It’s firm, solid, like he needs to feel you there, real and safe and close. His arms wrap tightly around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into his shoulder as he buries his face against you.
For a moment, he doesn’t speak, he just holds you.
And then you feel it. The slight shake in his breath. The warmth of it against your skin, uneven, unsteady, and then softer still, the quietest sound, like he’s trying to swallow it down but can’t quite manage.
He's crying, quietly, the kind of tears that come from something too deep to be held back, something he’s been carrying for longer than he ever let himself admit. “It’s okay…” he whispers, though the words tremble slightly, his voice thick as he presses closer. “You’re okay… I’ve got you… I’ve got both of you…”
His hand moves instinctively, almost reverently, down to your stomach, resting there like he’s afraid to apply too much pressure, like even the lightest touch means everything now. “I’ll protect you,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, the promise slipping out like something already carved into him. “No matter what… I’ll make sure you’re safe… both of you…”
There’s a pause, his grip tightening just slightly, as if the reality is still settling in, still unfolding piece by piece. “…I didn’t know if I was allowed to have this,” he admits quietly, his voice barely audible against you. “Something like this…”. His hold softens just a fraction, shifting, gentler now, as if he’s afraid of overwhelming you even in his relief.
“But I’ll take care of it,” he continues, more certain now, though the emotion hasn’t left his voice. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” Another breath, still uneven, another quiet, lingering press of his face against you. And then, softer, almost like a secret he’s only just allowing himself to believe:
Gris Rubion doesn’t fall for you because you’re different in a flashy way, but because you’re consistent in your care, the way you show up for people without making it about yourself, the way you help without expecting recognition, and he recognizes that immediately as something genuine, not performative, which makes him trust you long before he realizes he’s growing attached.
He is naturally attentive to people’s emotional states, and with you that attentiveness deepens into something more focused, where he notices when you’re tired even if you’re still smiling, when your tone shifts slightly after something difficult, when you’re pushing yourself past comfort for the sake of others, and instead of calling it out bluntly he adjusts quietly, stepping in to ease your workload or redirect situations so you’re not overwhelmed.
He speaks to you with a kind of calm patience that he doesn’t extend to everyone, letting you explain things fully, asking follow-up questions not to challenge you but to understand you better. There’s a softness in those conversations that isn’t obvious at first but becomes more noticeable the longer it continues, like he’s creating space specifically for you to exist comfortably outside both of yours jobs and duties.
He becomes someone you naturally rely on without realizing it, because he’s always there in a way that feels unforced, offering help before you have to ask, remembering things you mentioned needing days ago, making sure you have what you need to do your work properly, and he never frames it as doing something for you, just as something that makes sense to do.
There are small moments where his composure slips, not dramatically but enough to be noticeable if you’re paying attention, like when you thank him sincerely. He pauses a second longer than expected before responding, or when you’re hurt and he reacts faster than usual, his voice just slightly sharper with concern before he steadies it again.
He is openly kind, but with you that kindness becomes more personal, more deliberate, like he’s thinking about what specifically you need rather than applying general care, and that difference shows in small ways, like adjusting how he explains things to match your perspective, or making sure you’re included in decisions even when you don’t push yourself forward.
He doesn’t get jealous in an obvious way, but he does become more aware of how others interact with you, especially if someone dismisses your efforts or misunderstands your intentions, and he will step in. Not aggressively, but firmly, clarifying your actions and making sure you’re seen accurately, because your sincerity is something he respects deeply.
If someone were to ask him directly about you, he wouldn’t deflect or deny coldly, but he also wouldn’t label it easily, instead giving an answer that reflects his mindset, something along the lines of you being important, someone he trusts, someone who makes things better. He's not avoiding the truth, but to him, those things already are the truth, regardless of what name is attached to them.
And the most telling thing is that his care for you never feels like a shift or a sudden realization, it feels like something that grew naturally out of who he already is, his empathy, his steadiness, his quiet generosity, until one day it’s simply undeniable that you are someone he has chosen to prioritize, because being around you aligns with the kind of person he already strives to be.
~ @ m-joys 2026 ♡
A/n: I apologize if it's a little OOC, Im currently only on episode 9 but Gris already has a strong hold on me, any input is welcome ♡
The morning light comes in slow and golden, filtering through the thin curtains in a way that makes everything feel softer than it really is, like the world itself is still half-asleep and Nanami Kento prefers it that way. A small domestic pocket of peace before the day inevitably asks more of him than it should.
He sits at the dining table with the posture he always maintains, straight-backed and composed, one arm resting near his coffee. But there’s something different in the way his attention lingers, not on the neatly plated breakfast you prepared, not even on the faint steam rising from his cup, but on you, moving around the kitchen with that familiar rhythm he has come to rely on more than anything else in his life.
“Come here,” he says eventually, voice low, calm, but threaded with that quiet insistence that leaves no room for refusal. Not that you would ever refuse anyway.
You step closer, wiping your hands absentmindedly on the fabric of your clothes before he reaches for you, one hand settling firmly at your waist as he guides you onto his lap with an ease that speaks of habit, of familiarity, of something deeply rooted and unshakable. The chair creaks softly under the shift in weight, but neither of you pays it any mind ad you planned on replacing them soon.
Nanami exhales, just slightly, as if something in him settles the moment you’re there, close enough for him to feel the warmth of you, close enough that the outside world feels very far away.
“You work too hard,” he murmurs, though his tone lacks any real reprimand, his thumb brushing idly along your side in slow, absent strokes. You couldn't help but form a small smile at his words, knowing his work is millions of times harder than any housework or cooking you may do throughout the day, even when he isn't there to help you.
“And you don’t?” you reply softly, leaning in just enough that your forehead nearly touches his. That earns the faintest huff of amusement from him, something almost imperceptible, but you feel it more than you hear it.
It’s you who closes the distance first, gentle and unhurried, like you have all the time in the world, and he meets you halfway without hesitation. Nanami doesn’t rush things, he never does.
His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, steady and warm, thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone as he kisses you with a kind of quiet intensity that builds rather than overwhelms. It’s soft at first, almost testing, but it deepens naturally, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if to keep you right where you are.
Something is grounding about the way he kisses you, attentive, soft yet determined. Like he's claiming you in the most gentle way possible. The world outside could be falling apart, deadlines looming, responsibilities waiting, but here, in this moment, he allows himself to pause, to exist only in the warmth of you sitting in his lap, in the familiar rhythm of your breath, in the way you lean into him without hesitation.
His forehead comes to rest against yours when he pulls back, just enough to breathe, though his hand doesn’t leave your face, nor does the other loosen its hold around your waist. “You’ll spoil me,” you whisper, though there’s no real complaint in your voice.
Nanami’s eyes soften, just slightly, in that way he rarely lets anyone see. “I already have,” he replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And then, after a brief pause, his lips brush against yours again, shorter this time, softer, but no less meaningful, before he finally leans back, though his hand lingers at your waist like he’s reluctant to let you go just yet.
“Sit with me while I eat,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, though there’s a quiet weight to the request. And who would you be not to oblige your loving husband?
@ m-joys 2026 ~ ♡
A/n: I didn't have time to write something longer or with more plot, but domestic Nanami is always a good idea right?
You’re not “chosen” in a soft, romantic way, you’re noticed. And for someone like Ryomen Sukuna that was far more dangerous. Out of dozens, hundreds, his attention lingers on you for reasons only he knows.
At first, everyone assumes it’s temporary. Sukuna is known for his cruelty and boredom. But days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and you’re still there, still untouched by the punishments others fear. That’s when the palace starts to whisper, much to your dismay.
Sukuna isn't affectionate in a classic, romantic way by any means, but in comparison to his usual demeanor the subtle things were becoming obvious. He would let you speak without immediately silencing you, not interrupting you, or scolding you when you looked into his eyes, remembering things you had said, even the ones you wished he would forget.
The other concubines fear you almost as equally as they hate you, being close to Sukuna meant you're either unbelievably special or one small mistake away from a horrific end not even God himself could save you from. The fear also came from the intense knowledge that if one of them managed to disrespect, let alone hurt you even accidentally, punishment would be immediate.
Currently, the lantern lights were flickering as they've been turned on to signal the sun has fallen, only the light sound of paper screens muffling and careful quiet footsteps could be heard. No one dared to make a sound as everyone knew where you were, and whose room you entered. And everyone knew what that meant.
Sukuna is already watching you as you step inside, one arm lazily propped up against the cushions as one of his other hands motions for you to come closer. Disobeying his simple commands was a thought you weren't allowed to even have run through your mind.
The first touch is light surprisingly, fingers brushing your jaw, tracing down your neck and your side as they come to a full stop right under your ass, lightly nudging you forward. And you obey, leaning onto his large frame and catching him in a kiss. The kiss was controlled, slow and measured.
But Sukuna doesn't stay restrained for long, his hands quickly starting to explore your body under the night robe he provided for you. He shifts you closer and closer, until no space is left between the two of you. You're slowly moving your hips against him, trying to control yourself in case he would later punish you for "getting too bold".
Somewhere outside, a couple of fsint footsteps stop. Both of you notice and on impulse you stop moving, getting flustered at the thought of other people and concubines in the palace hearing you. Instead of sharing your opinion, he tilts his head as he brushes his lips against your ear, pulling you even closer, "Let them listen"
Your breath catches, that's all it takes. Your embarrassed reaction seemed to have got him even harder as one of his hands lifts you slightly, the other removes the robe as the third removes your underwear much slower than needed, you could see he was enjoying everythung that he's doing.
His hands start moving, slow and deliberate. Gently going over your sex as if to memorize it by touch, as if he hasn't memorized it already. Two of his fingers start making circles around your opening, the teasing combined with the want to feel full driving you crazy, but the only thing you can do, the only thing you're allowed to do, is to hold onto him and watch as his smirk widens.
Just as quickly as the frustration in you built up, it exited through the loud moan that escaped your lips as the two of his fingers entered you fast and precisely. One of them was already big like the two of yours and could bring you giant pleasure, but it couldn't possibly prepare you well enough for what is going to come later that night.
Your head felt so heavy from the pleasure of his rough fingers pressing not only to your G-spot, but also the deepest part of you you didn't even know could bring you to such a state. Your forehead rested in the crook of his neck, nails digging into his bicep and shoulder blades as his movement grew faster and rougher. You could hear the small laughter escaping his lips.
The coil in your stomach began to tighten as his other hand started to circle around your clit, sometimes pinching it unexpectedly just to see your reaction. The double stimulation brough you closer and closer to a bliss as you begin slightly grinding yourself to give your sensitive nub a bigger sensation than the one your lord Sukuna was providing in the chase of your high.
Just as your thoughts were starting to become completely blank, both of the things that were giving you the time of your life were suddenly removed, leaving you shocked and desperate. The hand whose fingers were pumping you full just a moment ago was now holding your neck upright in a secure grip, the two middle fingers still coated and dripping in your slick.
"Impatient" he murmurs, voice low and stern but almost amused, with a certain edge underneath it. His hand moves from the front of your neck to the back of your head, a fistful of your hair being now tugged to make you look him in his eyes. "You think you can just take what you want? You were lucky to receive anything in the first place."
You couldn't do anything but stare at him, awaiting whatever he had planned for you. The fear of punishment already being the only thing you could think about, of course, you knew he would go easier on you than if it were someone else, you were after all the only one he lets this close.
"Looks like I have no other choice but to punish you" he says as a large smile now decorates his face
Satoru Gojo believed he was too strong, too powerful, too unique to fall in love and be in a relationship. Yet, here he was. Sitting next to you, walking you back after missions, letting his guard down only around you.
He'll pull you onto his lap like it was nothing, rest his head against your shoulder, kiss you like he means it, slow, distracted, like he forgets the word exists. And then the moment it gets too real? He pulls back.
"Don't get the wrong idea" he says like his tongue wasn't exploring your mouth 5 seconds ago. But you do get the idea, and it hurts every time. Because for him it's not not wanting you, it's fear, but not the obvious kind.
Gojo’s fear isn’t “what if this goes wrong?”. It’s: “What if I become someone who can’t afford this?”. He already sees his future differently from everyone else. He knows he’ll be alone at the top. He’s been told that his strength will isolate him. So in his head, loving you is almost… irresponsible. Like he’s setting both of you up to get hurt later.
Meanwhile, you're still in the present, you feel everything as it is now. The way he looks at you and his gaze softens, the way his touch lingers late at night and it makes you think that if that isn't a relationship, then what must be?
The room is quiet in that heavy way it only gets after everything’s already happened. He’s lying beside you, one arm still loosely around your waist, like letting go didn’t even cross his mind. His breathing is steady again, but his grip hasn’t changed. And that’s exactly what makes it unbearable.
You stare at the ceiling for a while before speaking. “…Why?”. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. He tilts his head slightly, like he hears you, but doesn’t answer yet. So you turn to him, eyes searching his face. “Why do you do this?”. Now he looks at you. Really looks. And there’s no teasing in his expression. No smug smile. Just something quieter. Careful.
“You act like I’m yours.” A small, shaky breath. “You touch me like I’m yours. You look at me like—” your voice cracks a little, but you push through it. “—like you love me.” His hand tightens slightly on your side at hearing your words. “And then you turn around and say you don’t want anything with me.”
Silence. Not empty this time, just tense. You sit up a bit, pulling away just enough that his arm slips off you. “If you don’t want me, then stop.” Your voice is steadier now, but your eyes aren’t, you can't even bear the idea of looking at him and seeing his expression. “Stop acting like this. Stop acting like you love me.” That one lands, you see it in the way his body tenses immediately at your words.
“…I do love you.” It’s quiet. Firm. No hesitation. And somehow, that only makes it worse.
“Then how?” you whisper. “How can you say that and still—” Your hands clench in the sheets. “—still not want to be with me?”. He sits up now too, running a hand through his hair, frustrated in a way you don’t see often. “You think I don’t want that?” There’s something rough in his voice now. “I do.”
He looks at you again, and there it is, that intensity that always makes your chest tighten, just this time appearing when you didn't want it to. “But I’m not like you.” The words come out sharper than he probably intended. You flinch slightly because of an unexpected change of tone. He notices, of course he does. His expression softens for a second at your reaction, but he keeps going nonetheless.
“My life isn’t… normal. It’s not going to be.”A pause from him, it's obvious he's thinking of what words to choose to say next. “It’s dangerous. It’s unpredictable. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a few years, or if I’ll have time to—”. He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, the thoughts in his head too painful to try and put to words in the moment. “To what?” you press, quieter now, you don't know what he'll say next, the uncertainty worrying you. He exhales slowly. “To be what you deserve.”
That hangs between you.You shake your head, disbelief mixing with hurt, the thoughts of just letting everything you have, everything you said and did just going to waste hurting even deeper. “That’s not your decision to make.”. You say firmly, believing he only needs convicincing to change his mind, truly seeing the hope for the future you two have.
“It is if I’m the one who ruins it.” his words were fast and determined, he already knew what you were going to say as he knew this conversation was inevitable. Your chest tightens, you can't believe the truth of his words, and that the person saying them was none other than Gojo. “You don’t even want to try-" “I can’t.”. The way he says it, it’s not dismissive. It’s final. And that’s what breaks something in you.
“So what is this then?” you ask, gesturing between you frantically, “All of this, what is it to you?”. The sneaky kisses behind the school, the endless nights spent together in each other's dorm rooms, the laughter, happiness, warmth shared between the two of you. All of that had to mean something, had to hold some weight, right?
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops for a second, quietly collecting his thoughts, not knowing what to answer. “…It’s everything.”
Your breath catches. And he means it, you can see it. It's taking everything in him to hold himself together, and his words aren't helping you not to burst yourself. That’s the problem.
“Then why isn’t it enough?” you whisper. His expression shifts, just barely. His eyes seemingly heavier, his body a little tenser than before seemingly because his mind had finally accepted something he was too scared to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. Something almost pained. “Because it won’t last.”
There it is.
The truth he’s been hiding behind everything else. Not I don’t want you, not insecurity, not thinking it's because of you, but I don’t believe I get to keep you, I don't believe the circumstances will allow me to.
You stare at him, heart twisting. “And you’d rather lose me now than risk losing me later?”
Loving Choso feels like stepping into something that was already waiting for you, long before you knew of it. Something that doesn't rush, doesn't overwhelm, but settles in until you realize it's everywhere. Every glance, every quiet moment, every time his presence wraps around you before you even have time to acknowledge it
It's not a spark that burns bright but burns out even faster, it's something far heavier and deeper, like a blooming fire in the fireplace of a small house. You could feel the consuming, thick warmth everywhere at all times, no matter where you were.
His devotion is absolute in a way that doesn't need constant words. He doesn't repeatedly say 'I love you', but the way he orbits around you, the way his attention constantly returns to you no matter what, makes it impossible to doubt. You've come to realize that for him, loving someone isn't something casual, it becomes a part of how he exists.
He pays attention to you in ways that feel almost intimate even when nothing physical is happening, like he’s memorized the rhythm of you without trying. The way your voice changes when you’re tired but pretending you’re fine, the way your body shifts when you’re stressed, the small pauses in your speech when something is bothering you. He catches all of it, quietly storing it away, adjusting himself without making it obvious that he’s doing it.
Being loved by him feels safe, but not in a passive way, it’s an active kind of safety, like you know he is constantly aware of you, constantly present even when he’s not right next to you. If something were to go wrong, you don’t question whether he would show up, you know he would, immediately, without hesitation, without needing to be asked twice. That certainty settles into you over time until it becomes something you rely on without even thinking about it.
Arguments don’t create distance with him, and that’s one of the most defining things about his love. Even when he’s frustrated, even when he doesn’t fully know how to express what he’s feeling, he doesn’t pull away or shut you out, he stays, sometimes quietly, sometimes a little tense, but always present. For him, conflict isn’t a reason to step back, it’s something to move through together, because the idea of distance between you matters more to him than being right.
What makes his love so consuming is that it’s consistent, unwavering, and deeply rooted, the kind of presence that doesn’t flicker or change depending on circumstances. Over time, you start to realize that no matter what happens, good days, bad days, arguments, silence, he is still there in the same way, still choosing you in the same quiet, steady manner.
The clock besides you read 3:43am. You would've been surprised by it if it wasn't your third restless night in a row. Your eyes already felt heavier than ever before, but the anticipation of where Shiu must be was tons heavier.
You knew that he didnt work a regular 9-5, heck you knew it wasn't any regular job at all, but you learned not to question the ethics and circumstances of whatever work that was enabling the lavish lifestyle you lived with him. There were more times than you can count where he just got up and left in all hours od the day, where he wouldnt return all night like there was no trace of him. Responding to message and calls was an imaginary idea at this point.You knew all of this even before you two got together and have come to just accept it.
You weren't surprised when a couple days ago whilst you were making dinner you hear a phone ringing, and just minutes after that a kiss was planted on your forehead and the door clicked before you could process what was happening. You weren't surprised when he didnt return home later that night, or the next one, but the more time went on after that the more worry built up in you. For the years you've been together he has never not returned home at least for a couple of hours in this time.
The strong glow of the tv was giving you an even worser migraine than the one you already had, but your thoughts are far too loud and far too hurtful to even acknowledge to let yourself listen to them in silence. The show you've put had no other purpose other to drown out your thoughts which just kept getting louder each minute.
The lock clicks quietly, not rushed or loud like usual. Shiu slowly steps inside with the same controlled ease he does everything with, anyone would would have seen him could easily tell he was trying to enter as quietly as possible. Barely inside, coat and shoes still on, he sees you. Curled up on the couch, Tv flickering, eyes a little too wide and a little too tired .
The sound of the door and slow steps on the floor alerted you immediately even through the barely manageable volume of television, like your brain was looking out for them the entire time. You dont even have to turn around to know who entered and how, but you do, giving your brain the little sense of peace by confirming what you've been thinking. You dont say anything at first, just look at him, and that alone is enough to make something in his otherwise stoic expression shift.
He walks over slowly, unhurried, like he always does, as if nothing has been happening. By the time you can feel his shadow over you, you manage to add up all thats left of the strength that you have to talk. "Where have you been?". Your voice is quieter than usually, and he hasn't heard you speak like these before.
He sighs a little as he takes of his tie. "Work". It was simple and vague, just like everything surrounding him and honestly you would have been surprised if he answered anything besides that. But you dont push, dont question it, your already know that its pointless to even comment on it. Instead, you look down before taking in a deep breath, collecting your thoughts before speaking.
"I know the kind of job you do, i dont mind you being away from home" the words coming from your mouth are weak but determined, there's a small pause to pick the best way to speak before doing so again. " but if you could at least send a short message.. so I know you're okay" and with that you breath out before staring off into distance, or rather anything just so you dont look at him.
After that there's silence, the still kind of silence where you could hear the tiniest of noise. Shiu studies you for a moment, the way your shoulders are tense, the way youre trying to stay composed, and the way it's barely working. He steps closer, close enough so you would tilt your head a little to see what he wants. His hand comes up brushing the side of your jaw in a soft, intimate way before stopping where.
"You were worried.." his thumb shifts slightly and then lingers for a second, his eyes are taking you in and you can see the little glimpse inside them. "..I should've told you". He says it in a most matter of fact way possible, he's not making excuses, not apologizing, just acknowledging. And from him? That's significant.
He looks at you for what feels to him like a second since he could never get enough of you, before adding "I wasn't in danger". You can sense by the way his breathing becomes just a tad more irregular that he must be regretting what he did. "Of course.. you wouldnt have known that".
His gaze drops, but he doesn't move away fully, infact he stays close. Seemingly too scared to come closer, but also deeply wanting to be as closest as possible. And for you, that's enough
Life with the Shiu was, exactly like him, grounded.
He bought you expensive things. Of course, if you yourself didn't buy them first, with the easy use of tap to pay on his black card, he loved picking your outfits, your makeup, and your hairstyle for any and all occasions.
Sure, he could sound a little demanding when telling you so, but don't think that he didn't consider the fact that you yourself would like to wear it. There was a balance, a strong mutualism in your relationship. You never question his weird work hours, the fact he sometimes didn't come home for a couple of days and didn't say anything when he entered, random calls at all hours of the day, whether it was his work phone or your home phone.
But he also never questioned the withdrawals on his card, how you spend the time when he isn't around or where you go. This balance is also reflected in the way of how he doesn't know where the cutlery is in your kitchen and how you don't know the water bill. The teasing is constant, but always controlled.
He’ll make small comments about how you look, how you act, or how easily you’ve settled into this lifestyle, but never in a way that actually undermines you. "You've gotten comfortable," he said with the faintest smirk while he watches you arrange jewelry in one of your multiple jewelry boxes.
At the core of it, your relationship is built on balance. Not control. Yes, he guides, chooses, provides, but you also hold your own space, your quiet but strong and deep-rooted influence over him.
Truth is, he is far more dependent on you than you are on him.
A/n: I dont remember the last time I wrote something. Not proofread and the word count is questionable. Fell free to send jjk asks in inbox as im hyperfixating and who knows how long it'll last.
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