satoru gojo doesn’t really see the issue with sharing a shower with his best friend who happens to be a girl. by now, nudity is simply another state of being like hunger, exhaustion, etc. part of the nature of your heterosexual friendship—it just happens.
morning after a late night out, both of you are slightly hungover, and the idea of taking turns feels like too much effort. you’re brushing your teeth while satoru is under the spray, humming off-key to some tune you don’t recognise. water sluice over pale skin, and when he tilts his chin at you, suds slide down the sculpted ridges of his torso—like marble (yes, a fucking cliché, but clichés exist for a reason: they’re true, irritatingly so)—carved just to torture your eyes.
“c’mon, there’s room for one more.”
you roll your eyes, spit in the sink, and step in anyway, shivering as the warm spray hits bare skin.
he’s always the one to start. towering behind you, his fingers thread into your hair, nails grazing lightly as he works shampoo into a lather. it slips between his hands, bubbles foaming at your roots. satoru hums, absentmindedly (this time, you clock it as the theme song of familymart, of all things) and cups your jaw with one hand, tilting your head just enough so no suds violate your eyes. when he’s finally satisfied, he steps back, water dripping from his translucent lashes. you turn around.
“my turn,”
snowy hair plastered to his skull, satoru ducks his head obligingly. you work the lather through, fingers dragging against his scalp. halfway through the procedure, it occurs to you—he could be angling his eyeballs upward, trying to sneak a look at your chest. plausible. even probable. but you don’t call him out. instead, you rake your nails harder, which pulls out a startled groan from him. so laughably easy.
and just like that, the space between you feels smaller than it has any right to be.
“enjoying yourself?”
“not particularly.” you flick water at his face for emphasis, watching droplets sliding down his skin. satoru only laughs, leaning in until his forehead presses to yours.
“i can change that.”
by the time he has you pinned against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, you are suddenly reminded of one very important factor.
“you’re not seriously—toru, water is not lube.”
“yes it is,” he insists, tongue poking between his teeth as he angles himself, impatient as ever.
“toru i am seri—ugh!”
the stretch is nothing short of brutal, forcing a hiss from your lungs as your walls strain around him.
“mmf—point taken,” he groans, voice muffled into your shoulder as he bottoms out. but his hips don’t stop, can’t stop, rutting into you with sloppy, eager thrusts that sends water ricocheting off your bodies.
a small voice in the back of your mind nags of the potential dangers: a slip, and a shameful visit to shoko with a busted tailbone and a whole lot of ‘splaining to do. but the thought is gone the moment he hits your g-spot just so, sending stars exploding behind your eyes.
your nails score down his back, the wall behind you threatening to slide you lower with every brutal slam of his hips, but his hold on your thighs is unyielding. coherent thought dissolves into the wet, staccato plap-plap-plap of skin against skin, into the broken babble spilling from his lips as he loses himself in the tight warmth of you. orgasms blur together, the second folding into the third, each one shooting pleasure up your spine, wrung from you by the same punishing pace.
bestial in his own quest for release, satoru continues to pummel his cock into you. and when it takes him too, he whimpers into your neck, that familiar pulse pumping you full. waiting out the residual spams, you stay locked there, conjoined bodies shuddering under the shower spray. his bulging biceps tremble where they cage you in, until at last satoru eases his grip and lets you down slow, feet finding the tile again. your legs nearly buckle, but he steadies you, chest pressed to yours until the worst of the aftershocks pass.
only then does he peel himself back, shaking his head like a wet dog, droplets flinging everywhere. he straightens to his full, impressive height, brilliant blue eyes cutting down at you with that guilty little smirk that makes your stomach feel things. and in that suspended moment you think you might actually let it tip into something else—until he sticks his tongue out at you.
so you reach up and flick his forehead, resetting the balance. the spell breaks, and together you shuffle apart under the spray, water washing away everything but the ache he’s left behind.
summary - you are exhausted, a single mother and running a huge marketing company, and your sweet little daughter Yuuka is honestly a menace. She's chased away every single Nanny you've tried to hire! All alone with her, you just decide to start bringing her to work, when a man walks in who might as well be Mary fucking Poppins - Nanami Kento. Sweet, patient, and Yuuka just loves him on sight, you pay his very high salary and promise no overtime. But Nanami grows to love what is becoming a family too much, and you grow to crave more and more of his time. The lines blur - what's professional and what's real?
contents/warnings - so fluffy I'm surprised at myself aha, hurt/comfort, reader is a mom, past abuse from her ex (only briefly mentioned) eventual smut, sexual tension humor, Nanami being a sweetheart, Yuuka being adorable, found family vibesss
gonna be a little mini series based on the drabble here! Tags are open <3
part two>>>
part one
You’re exhausted, juggling being a single mom and running a company was not easy, especially when your little daughter Yuuka loved to torment every single babysitter you got her. You found the highest quality Nannies, and not one of them could handle your little girl, she was an angel for you honestly, you couldn’t believe half of the stories they came up with.
She’s sitting over with a bunch of barbies, smiling up at you so pretty, your heart melts while your fingers pause on typing on the keyboard. “Are you okay honey, do you need another snack?”
“M’good mama!” She’s running up to you, letting a barbie kiss your cheek now, you laugh softly.
With Yuuka, you’re not a stern business woman like you have to be in the world, to be taken seriously as it’s run by nothing but men. You can be yourself. You get a call then, and it’s your secretary on the line. Yuuka runs back over to the corner with her tablet, sitting on the soft blankets you brought with you.
“Yes?”
“I have a Mr. Nanami here to see you, are you available?” You blink a bit at that, curiously checking your schedule.
“Hmm, I don’t have a meeting scheduled. Does he want me to do marketing for him?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s hot.”
“Oh god,” your secretary whispers it on the phone, she loves to try to get you with someone, all worried that you’re alone since you split with your ex. “You’re such an instigator. Send him in, then.”
She practically maniacally laughs, buzzing him into your office, lit by the wide open floor to ceiling windows, you’re up in a high rise in the city, a beautiful view. When he walks in, he takes in the surroundings for the briefest of moments, a perfectly immaculate office, paintings on the walls, your desk is organized and a cherry wood, but one thing stands out.
Well, two things.
The adorable kid in the corner, full of colorful blankets, books and toys, smiling at him, and she looks just like a miniature version of the girl sitting at the desk – you. You’re standing up, fingers pressed against the desk, wearing a sleek business suit just tailored to your body. Your hair is pinned up perfectly, not a strand loose, red lipstick standing out and matching the color of your blazer.
He falters, he’s here for an interview, and the last thing he needs to do is be rude or disrespectful, hitting on you or flirting with you would be out of the question, and unlike him. He hardly can remember why he came here for a second, stunned by you when you walk up to him and shake your hand, imposing presence despite the fact that you have to look up at him.
“How can I help you, Mr. Nanami?” His eyes drift over to the girl again, he waves to her and she waves back. “She’s a good kid, don’t worry, we can still talk business. Have a seat.”
Nanami sits right in front of you, your eyes try not to linger on his strong chest in that pale blue dress shirt, he’s wearing a suit just a little baggy, as if he’s so big he needed to size up. Or maybe, comfort you imagine, curiously sitting now and eyeing the bright print tie, stark contrast to his black pinstripe, before flitting over to his face.
He is handsome, your secretary was completely accurate, so handsome you get nervous - you - usually immune to any man’s charms, one to make grown men cry actually. After your ex decided to be the shitty person he was, you had no issue kicking him out of your penthouse once you got the strength, the last thing Yuuka needed was to see a terrible, toxic relationship.
But your tummy flutters as he adjusts his tie, as if he’s a little nervous too, he’s so broad he just takes over your chair altogether, yet he seems sweet, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners when Yuuka runs up. “Here!”
She’s handed him a barbie now, his lips quirk up a bit, and you giggle. The sound is not normal around anyone but your daughter, but it catches his attention immediately, looking over at the sweet little noise. You cover your mouth now, while she explains the story between the barbie dolls, they’ve apparently had a fight.
“Yuuka honey, mommy has to work. We can play later.” She pouts now.
“Wanna play!”
“Don’t give me that look,” she knows how to play it already, cute little pout and her pretty eyes. “Yuuka…”
“She’s perfectly fine,” he murmurs with ease, before tugging out a packet of papers, handing it over. “I’m actually here regarding the position you offered.”
“Oh? Oh! The nanny position!” You peer at his resume, raising your eyebrows at his recommendations, he even had certification.
“A ‘manny’ I guess.” His humor surprises you, glint in his gaze that makes you laugh again.
“Mommy’s laughing! That’s good!” Yuuka is bouncing up and down, Nanami ruffles her hair and chuckles.
“Does mommy need to laugh more often?” You heat up a bit when Yuuka nods, and he looks at you carefully.
“Mommy is just very busy, and a little stressed.” You answer, and he sees it then, the tension in your shoulders, he can’t imagine running a company could be easy for you.
The thought of rubbing said tense shoulders catches him off guard, he instantly shoves that thought back, while playing with Yuuka now. “Is the position still open?”
“It absolutely is, um… Nanami, what got you into childcare?”
“I had to grow up really quick,” your heart hurts then at that, you blink back tears for a man you barely know, who’s just getting along perfectly with your daughter, who tortures people for fun. “I don’t want any kid to have to do that, so I thought I’d try to keep the kid spirit alive.”
“Oh…” You damn near fight crying at how sweet that is, peering further at his resume, you recognize some of the names as fellow colleagues. “You’re a regular Mary Poppins, huh?”
“Mary Poppins?” He laughs with you, you pull him up on your computer and scroll to see he has gushing reviews.
“Super Nanny, gosh look at all this.” You’re reading more of his reviews, Nanami’s cheeks are decorated red at your praise.
“I just have a way with kids I guess.”
“Clearly, she’s a menace.”
“Am not!” You stick your tongue out, and so does she, he can’t help but shake his head, hiding another smile behind his hand.
“You look just like your mama you know.”
“She really does.” You mention, checking his background information he’d included for you.
“Mommy’s pretty.” Yuuka is sweet sometimes, you gotta admit, you look at her and thank her, until she turns to Nanami. “Isn’t she pretty?”
“Oh, Yuuka don’t ask that!”
“She is very lovely,” Nanami’s words do something to your heart, fluttering in your chest faster now.
“See!” She’s mischievously giggling.
Lovely who even says lovely.
Why’s it so sweet!?
His salary request is very high, but you don’t mind at all, in fact you’d pay him more than that if he could help out and not run away from your daughter. Her pranks are ridiculous, you’ve gotta hope she’ll behave. “If you can handle her, I’ll hire you - and give you a hefty bonus if you make it a month. Your monthly salary doubled.”
“You really think I won’t make it a month?” He’s raising a brow, you shake your head and sigh when he looks at Yuuka. “Are you that scary, Yuuka?”
“I am sweet, they were mean!”
“They were so not mean.”
“Mhmm!”
“Well, I’m not mean.” She’s clinging to his arm, far too cute, making you melt into a damn puddle at work.
“You’re hired!”
“Yuuka, I do that,” you cross your arms, your daughter is about as bossy as you, to a fault. “Nanami, you’re hired.”
“Perfect, I’m always up for a challenge. When do I start?”
“Like, now.”
“Now!?”
*****
Nanami is such a miracle worker, truly. In one week with Yuuka, she’s been completely sweet, no pranks or fits! In fact, when she does decide to get a little bratty with you, Nanami gently chides her. You find yourself working from home more often, wanting to be near them both, enjoying the presence far, far too much.
You enjoy Nanami, sure, but mostly you love seeing how he is with her, how she brightens and opens up more and more every day. He’s worth all that expensive salary and then some, with the amount of work you’re able to get done - right down to him helping cook you dinner. That’s not what you asked at all, but you typically order out or heat up something with your schedule.
Exhausted, you came home Friday to him cooking, wearing a little white apron you’ve never tried on, it barely fit him. You thought maybe you were in some day dream, imagine anyone cooking for you, let alone him. Yuuka was helping him stir eggs up, standing on a little pink step stool next to him. When they hear you walk in they both turn your direction.
“I’m hallucinating, a home cooked meal for me?” You’re slipping off your heels, Nanami tells Yuuka to keep stirring, walking toward you then, looking far too attractive in that damn apron over his dress shirt and slacks.
“You need to be taken care of too,” his words are soft, he notices then what he’s said, clearing his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s too much.”
“No, it’s… really sweet, um…” Again, confident and never afraid, Nanami turns your brain to mush standing in front of you. “I want to cook more, I want to be able to do that with her. And you there will just… make it better.”
“Then come on, I’ll show you some things. You can’t live on coffee.” He takes your hand, just a little coated in flour, the warmth spreading. Your eyes lock for a moment, neither of you speak, before you follow him over.
“I also drink wine you know,” you tie an apron on, winking at him. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You can’t live on just that, either. Yuuka that’s really good, you’re a pro.”
“Yay! Mommy come here!” You soon are helping the two of them in the kitchen - it’s too easy, too comfortable. Something about it instead of just being fun, was touching you deeply, the more you fall into the easy rhythm.
That’s something you never had.
You try to remember, it’s just his career, something he loves to do, and not think that much into it, but having someone care for you? Worry about you? Even if it was mere kindness, it felt good, so good it was hard to focus on cooking, and Nanami is in front of you, a hand gently touching the small of your back. You gasp, realizing the bottom is sticking, stirring it around now.
“Oh! Sorry, I was spaced out,” he takes your hand, moving the spatula slowly. “Ah, I was doing too much.”
“You’re doing just fine, you’re so tired I’m surprised you’re standing.” You hear his concern, while he’s standing too close to you, you inhale that expensive cologne, enjoying his nearness.
“You think I’m that tired?” You turn your chin, looking up at him, he leans over and turns the burner down, before studying you intensely, like no one has ever looked at you before.
Like he knows you more than you do.
“You may look beautiful with dark circles, but that’s a sign you’re doing too much, not sleeping enough.”
Beautiful.
You blink a bit, turning your body to where you all are too close, Yuuka is in the living room on the other side of the wall, watching her show. Your heart pounds in your chest when he runs a thumb under your eyes, the coolness feeling far too good, you sigh at the sensation.
“I worked myself to death before,” he murmurs, swiping underneath your eyes gently, they flutter shut at how good it feels, listening to him. “I never will again, no amount of money is worth it.”
“I have so many responsibilities, you’re helping so much, truly.”
“Instead of working more because of me, maybe you can try to enjoy your life a little? I know it’s not my place, I know she’s who I’m here to care for. But you’re her mom, you know? She loves you so much.” You step back, hands on his wrists while they sit just an inch from your skin, and the two of you freeze there.
He’s said too much, he worries now – that he should’ve kept quiet, but how does he not see how much you’re suffering with the amount of work you do? Doing the job of ten people, barely able to walk when you come through that door, yawning constantly and downing ten espressos a day.
In a week he’s already grown to care for both of you, and it’s scary just how much he enjoys this. He doesn’t want it to end because he’s put too much out there.
“I shouldn’t-”
“You’re right.”
“I am?” You sigh, nodding, and he exhales in relief. “Then let me help you, we’ll cook together, and you’ll eat a good dinner every night I’m here.”
“Yes, sir.” You’re teasing but that fucks him up, to the point it takes a lot not to kiss you, press you against that counter, kiss the red lipstick off your mouth.
He doesn’t say it of course, quickly going back to cooking, quiet for a moment. “Come here, I’m going to show you how to properly make noodles, yours are awful.”
“Hey now!”
“You overcook them to mush.”
“Rude!” You’re so fucking happy though, cooking next to him, thankful he exists.
*****
Soon you do enjoy cooking more, and you can’t help but show off your skills, but many times Nanami would have to go home quickly after eating. He did not like overtime, even if he enjoyed you all very much, he’d always peer at his rolex at the exact same time every day. You couldn’t help but enjoy those little quirks about him more and more as the time passed.
“Nanami, stay and watch a movie with us,” you mention one night, when he’s already about to slip on his jacket. “Need me to pay you overtime?”
“Nonsense,” he falters then, however, the more time he spends, the more he feels, and being closer to you is difficult. He doesn’t want to cross that line with you, blur them, whatsoever, but it’s almost impossible the more time he spends. “I just don’t want to impose.”
“Not at all, we’d love to have you watch a movie,” you pat the couch and smile at him. “Maybe a glass of wine?”
“One.” He agrees, his cheekbones jutting out as he tenses his face at your grin, far too pretty, making his heart race when you jump up, Yuuka is bouncing up and down.
“Nanami is staying!”
“He is, let’s make snacks!”
Soon he’s got Yuuka curled up on his lap, you on the other side of him, a bowl of half full popcorn sitting right in front of you all on the table. “She likes you more than me, no fair.”
“She does not,” he’s chuckling, a hand on your thigh now, you feel your body react to the easy touch, it’s nothing inappropriate, it’s casual. But it’s too much, especially when you look down at his hand. “She loves you.”
“I know,” you put your hand over his, seeing the crazy difference in size, if the man doesn’t have the biggest hands. You peer and see Yuuka is snoring, her little arms around his neck. “Oh, I should put her to bed.”
“I’ve got it.” He stands with her, cradling her to his chest now, she blinks the sleep from her eyes and yawns. “Say good night to mommy.”
“Night mommy.” She mumbles, you stand and kiss her cheek.
“Night sweet girl.” You pick up the remote, pausing the movie, grabbing the bowl of popcorn on the table and the glasses, taking them to the kitchen.
You’re rinsing the dishes when Nanami walks by, seeing you still in your business skirt and blouse, a little untucked from the waistband. He tries to avoid the natural feeling of wanting to tug your waist to him, to press little kisses along your neck, this was a reason he usually left. You thought it was overtime, and he let you think just that, but it wasn’t even close.
The more time he spends, the more it feels like a family, the thought terrifies him. Nanami was a professional, always, the entirety of his career, he prided himself on just that. Yet something clicked that never has, leading to the worst thoughts, imagining taking you right there, slipping your skirt up, wondering just how badly you needed the release he could give you.
“You just gonna burn holes in my back, Kento?” You’ve never said his first name, and the way it sounds on your lips?
Fuck.
“You have eyes in the back of your head?” He teases, you look over your shoulder while you rinse a cup. “Want help?”
“You do enough around here.”
“I don’t mind any of it at all.” You relax a bit hearing it, he comes over and rolls up his sleeves – and you damn near drop what you’re washing, when you see those veiny, strong forearms up close. “Here, I’ll dry them.”
“Thank you,” he stands so tall next to you, his scent fucking up any good sense you have left. “Would you like to make this a thing? A movie night?”
“Would you like that?” His tone is husky, the desire is hot in your tummy when his gaze flits over to you.
“We both would. I’m sure you have a life, um… maybe you date? But if you wouldn’t mind once a week. I really liked it.”
“I am not seeing anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Do you? See anyone?” He tries to make it sound casual, easy, but he is furious for some reason about picturing you with anyone. It’s terrible, everything he’s thinking of doing to you – a man so composed.
“Ah, no, my ex has put me off dating forever maybe.”
“He never comes around, does he?” You suck in a breath, shaking your head, he finishes putting the dishes up, leaning a hip on the counter, you do the same. “Why not? Is he an idiot?”
“He is an idiot,” you laugh softly, but he’s very serious. “Um, he was… not nice to me… mentally, physically.”
“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he cups your face carefully, you blink back tears but fail, crying about it for maybe the first time since he left. “Come here.”
He’s tugged you against his hard chest, warm and inviting, big arms wrapping your body now, a hand affectionately on your head as you let it go. The pain of thinking about back then, thinking how you let him run you over, so different from who you are now, it’s too much. It’s too perfect in his arms, like you never want to leave, crying against his fancy shirt.
“Sorry, shit…”
“Don’t be,” he’s stroking your hair, a mix of emotions making his throat tighten. He wants to hold you, comfort you – but also anger at whoever would lay a hand on you, or not give a fuck about his own kid. “I’m sorry someone hurt you. I promise if I saw him, he sure the fuck wouldn’t be able to say a word.”
“Kento!” You giggle through your tears, surprised by him. “I thought you were a gentle giant, what’s this?”
“Gentle with you two, sure, he wouldn’t want to fight me though.” You see it now, a little fiery personality under those layers of calm, he can’t help but smile with you, brushing your hair back. “If you ever feel unsafe and he’s trying to come around, you can always call me or tell me.”
“You don’t have to do half of the things you do,” you look up under lashes dripping with tears, sniffling just a bit. Nanami exhales, just a breath away from your lips, you can almost taste him. “I really appreciate you. I’m not sure I can explain just how much.”
Your hand rests on his chest, where his heart is pounding steadily against your palm. It’s quiet, no sounds but the whirling of the fan over your heads, the sounds of your breaths intermingling. He’s got his lips close, too close, hands slipping down the sides of your waist.
You’re scared to let anyone in, especially someone that seems so perfect – you’re not at all, despite how you come across at times, you don’t have it all together really. Nanami sees that messier side of you, the exhausted mom running on nothing, and for once you can really let that side show in his presence, not hide it.
“I appreciate you,” he whispers, far, far too close now, you lower your gaze to his lips, thin upper lip but the poutiest lower one, just a little glossy when he runs his tongue along them. “I’m loving being here, I don’t want anything to ruin it.”
“I don’t either,” you realize you’re leaning in, just as he is, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You really think I’m beautiful with dark circles, huh?”
He scoffs a bit, smiling down at you. “You’re just beautiful, dark circles or not. They’ve gotten a little better.”
“That’s because of you,” he shuts his eyes for a moment, fighting it, the instinct to kiss you, to kiss every part of you, but you’re looking too prettily up at him, ending his resolve, he grabs your hips and tugs you to him, making you gasp. “Kento…”
“You’re calling me by my first name,” he whispers, his straight nose just barely nuzzling yours, it’s hard to breathe suddenly, suffocating on the energy, the desire. “Do you like to call me that, darling?”
“Darling…” You’re blushing, so prettily then, he rubs your overheated cheeks, his hazel eyes lidded, those blond lashes lowered, casting shadows on the hard planes of his cheekbones. “I might like that too much.”
“Oh?” You nod, leaning up, when you hear it – Yuuka rushing down the stairs. You two quickly part, both blushing messes, and she’s running to Nanami, hugging his pant leg now.
“Nanami, forgot to say bye!” He smiles, brushing her hair gently and smiling, a tired little smile directed at you.
“Don’t go yet, I have something,” you shake it off – the tension, the desire – remembering who he is, why he’s here. And how much you appreciate him. You grab the envelope, handing it to him, Yuuka comes to hug your waist now, you pull her to your side. “Just a thank you.”
“This is too much…” He frowns now, you already pay his truly high salary, but the bonus is ridiculous. “It’s just been a couple weeks…”
“It’s been plenty of time. I just want you to know how much it means to me,” you trail off, blinking rapidly. “Um, having you here with us.”
“Of course,” he shakes his head, trying to hand it back to you. “It’s really too generous, ridiculous even.”
“Please, just keep it. We’ll have another movie night, right?” He smiles, nodding to Yuuka’s delight, before coming up and kissing her head tenderly, then pressing a little kiss on your temple before he can think better of it. Your heart aches, the gesture so precious while you hold your daughter in your arms.
“I’ll see you beauties tomorrow morning.” He’s off quickly now, Yuuka snuggles against your neck, her little hands gripping your blouse.
“Mama, I love him.” She says, you barely hold it back, the longing for more, the emotions of your daughter loving someone, to have a man that truly cares.
You can hardly stand to think it’ll end one day.
“I’m so glad, baby. Let’s go to sleep.”
When you are in bed, you toss and turn, remembering the heat of his body against yours, the sweet breath on your lips, so worked up for the first time in years truly. Your ex really did a number on you, and these thoughts weren’t in your head at all – it was business, and your daughter – there was no room for anything else, until Nanami.
Little do you know, he’s picturing you in his bed at the same time, yet he’s not as composed as you, he’s lost his composed nature in fact, trying to feel terribly guilty for jerking off to the thought of you.
Nanami Kento x Reader Smut: Nanami Uses Reader's Hand as a toy (Part Two)
Read first! Linked: (Part One) Reader uses Nanami Kento's Hand as a toy
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A few firm strokes. A grunt of relief. A spreading of beige-trousered thighs, a shifting down the sofa, and a clink of the belt. Another few pumps, and twisting your palm over his glistening cock head to wetten it. A groan, breathed into a glass, and rippling across whiskey.
"You...are filthy, Nanami Kento--"
Another moan. Kento had set a pace now, and your forearm jacked up and down like he didn't give a damn that you were attached to it; but, he did. He cared very much. It was, on the contrary, utterly necessary to the pleasure of masturbating-- your hand as the cocksleeve.
You felt heat pooling between your thighs again, watching Kento with heavy-lidded eyes. With his whiskey jostling in the glass, and his hand around yours jacking himself off with long-practiced efficiency, and the hem of his navy shirt held up between his teeth, Kento looked a mess; sloppy. Desperate. Debauched.
Kento murmured to himself, as if you weren't even there.
"...mmm. Just...just...let the poison out, need...ungh..."
You opened your mouth to talk, but words fell short. Your input wasn't necessary, clearly. You had used him as a toy, after all; now it was his turn.
Without needing to concentrate on getting him off on your own steam, you watched him instead, with hungry fascination; his pulse in his bristled throat, straining against his tie. How he slopped whiskey over his chest, in his rush to yank the tie knot loose. How the muscles on his tight, veined belly twitched and clenched, as he began to fuck up into his hand-- your hand-- with involuntary little movements; that primal urge to bury, to fill, and to spill.
Kento swallowed hard, panting, and whispering his process aloud. His voice was rough, catching with every pulse of pleasure he stole from your hand.
"I...I imagine you...how you talk to me, when..."
Kento groaned, whiskeyrust and deep. His eyes were still closed. You understood completely, and bit your lip, whispering like it was your pussy around him instead; because, in his head, it was.
"Oooh, fuck, Ken...harder-- please--"
Another groan, ragged, fractured. An urgency to how his hips flicked up into your hands; an urgency to how his fingers white-knuckled around his glass, because he was holding your hips, not a glass of whiskey, and pounding them back around him, watching the tightslick grip of your cunt and how he hoped for just a second that you weren't on protection because then there was nothing to stop him from just--
"--p-pull out, do you need me to--"
"Come inside me."
Another groan-- barely human. A curse, a shirt clamped between neat white teeth, eyes squeezed shut, a warning twitch and throbbing veins and silky foreskin beneath your palm and--
"--can't last-- f-fuck, inside, need to be inside you, n-need--"
A clink; a whiskey glass tumbling to the rug. A hand, fisting into the back of your hair, pressing your head down. A squeak of alarm, a giggle, a muffled groan and a final one, two, three, pumps and thrusts and--
Kento's breath caught; a growl and a curse with every rope of cum that spurted into your mouth. His hand shaking, as if to stop him from taking your mouth as deeply as he would your pussy. You, humming around him, your palm numb with his self-abuse, and the salty tang of his bliss on your tongue.
Silence in the living room. Kento finally started breathing again, his chest heaving, dopey and missed as he stares down at you. You popped off of his softening cock, smirking as he shivered. You cleared your throat, delicate, as if you hadn't just partaken in absolute sin.
Nanami Kento x Reader Smut: Reader Uses Nanami's Hand as a toy (Part One)
Linked: (Part Two) Nanami Kento Uses Reader's Hand as a toy
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"Please--"
"No."
"Oh, please--" A kiss, soft and insistent. A huff, and a grunt. "--help you relax--"
"I was perfectly relaxed, my love--"
"--wouldn't have to do a thing, I'll use my mouth, or I'll ride you, or take off your tie--" A groan, low and filthy. A giggle. "Really? That's what does it? Taking off your tie?"
"That's-- that's-- foreplay."
As you laughed, bright and musical, Kento's eyes narrowed at you. He had sunk into the sofa, one hand around a glass of whiskey, one shoe on and one shoe off. He had shed his professionalism at the door; you, however, had never been burdened by professionalism in the first place.
You lay on your front beside him, kicking your legs back like a girl, and drawing patterns on his belly with your fingertip. His cock squirmed...but not enough. Thirst curled small, meagre in the dark, with the prospect of sleep all the more arousing
And yet...Kento's eyes narrowed further; he saw how your thighs squeezed together to relieve the ache. Saw how you brushed yourself against him, purring like a cat. Saw the plea in your eyes.
Kento groaned once more, rubbing a hand down his face. Half-serious, and with his eyes drifting closed, he draped his hand over to you; a grumbling old miser in the body of a man.
"Here you are. Use this."
A beat of silence. A finger, tracing over his hand, gauging its shape...and the soft shhhhfff of pyjama shorts being removed. One of Kento's eyes flicked open. The pupil narrowed, and he swallowed hard.
You had risen onto your knees beside him, before lying on your back, with your thighs parted just so, and your lap draped over his. Had you paid enough attention, you'd have noticed the thickening swell of his cock beneath your ass; but you were far too busy with his hand.
"What...are you doing?" rumbled Kento, as if he did not know. You held his hand from the back, shaping his fingers and touch just so. When you did not answer, shuffling yourself into position instead, Kento opened his mouth to ask again. His words dried up on his tongue, however, as you slid his fingers down between your folds like he was your favourite toy.
"Jesus," Kento hissed as you arched, your eyes fluttering shut and your mouth dropping open. His eyes had darkened, now; stormy and hyperfocused, their honey-brown swirling like the whiskey in his glass. He took a sip, his breath catching in his chest as you dipped his fingers lower, gathering the wetness from your entrance to lubricate his touch.
Kento felt every fibre of his body twitch; screaming at him to move, and take control, and move his fingers against you himself. But the notion of being used like this; of witnessing your most private masturbatory moments, draped across his lap as you drew circles around your clit with his very own fingers, it was--
"Gorgeous," Kento whispered, licking a spill of whiskey from the fingers that gripped his glass. He leaned back, his eyes heavy lidded as you masturbated on his lap, with his hand as your toy. "Good girl."
You whimpered. Kento chuckled. "Really? That's what does it? Calling you a good girl?"
"F-fuck yes, Kento, that's foreplay."
"You're going to come on my lap?"
"Y-yep."
"Like this?"
"U-ungh...yeah--"
"Or like this?" Kento shaped his hand; two thick fingers clasped together at the bottom, and a thumb and forefinger pinched together at the top. You sighed, gripping his hand by the wrist, and wiggling until those two thick fingers buried themselves cervix deep.
The cry that left you was sinful; even more so, as you pinched his thumb and forefinger around your clit, shameless as you rode his hand with bliss on the horizon.
Kento didn't say a word; he didn't have to. His eyes said it all. The way his cock strained against your arse said it all. The way his breaths had quickened, and the whiskey no longer felt enough, said it all.
"Good girl," Kento murmured again, his voice low, his eyes fixed on your face, and your pussy, and your face again. "Just like that...want me deeper?"
"Y-yes, f-fuck-- fuck, yes--"
"Then you do it," Kento hummed, draining his whiskey with a hiss. "I am, after all...too tired."
"You-- you--"
"Language."
"You...terrorist." Kento laughed. The rumble took you perilously close to your peak. Your ruts against his hand, and the frantic fumbling of his fingers grew sloppier, wetter, more and more desperate, until--
"I can feel you...about to come?" A threat, his hand pulling away, just a little, I til you mewled. He chuckled again. "But what if I need that hand?"
You growled in frustration, every muscle tightly coiled, gripped by the ache before the storm. You moved his fingers faster, and faster, rocked to the edge by his thick calloused tips, and gasped out a final reproval. "N-need it? For what?"
"Reading."
With a final hysterical laugh, that quickly tapered off into a moan, you came with a rush of liquid honey that spread from your clit, all the way to the tips of your toes.
Your hands trembled where they used Kento's battle-rough fingertips to pleasure you. Your breaths were hot, quick and whimpering. You could barely hear him through the haze, but you felt his lazy, involuntary grinding against your arse; felt how his whiskey forearm clamped over your thighs to increase the pressure.
"Good girl...so pretty, when you cum-- fuck-- did that feel good?"
"Mmm..." Dazed. Fizzling. Shivering. "Mhmmm."
"Good. We aren't done yet, though."
A pause. You opened your eyes to the sound of Kento's buckle. His sinful groan as he bit the hem of his untucked shirt between his teeth, and his thick, pink-tipped cock slapped up against his twitching belly.
Kento reached out, grasping your hand, wrapping it around his cock. He wrapped his own hand over yours, strong and warm. He gave a few rough, preparatory pumps, and hissed between his teeth as his cock wept down your fingers.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You glared at him. You could take his apathy, his indifference, shove it somewhere deep inside and convince yourself that you felt the same.
"Like what?" His eyes burned into yours.
"Like you're jealous or something."
"What if I am?"
relationships: Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Gojo x Reader (multiple endings)
content: MDNI !! angst and fluff and smut !! roommates-to-lovers, reader sleeps around, piv sex, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), shower + period sex, office sex, semi-public sex, spanking, arguments, breakups/makeups, heavy flirting/tension, threesome, mating press, blindfolds, whipped cream, jealousy, slice of life, domestic fluff, tension and teasing, messy relationships and complicated feelings
🜼 ⋆ soft dom toji helping you fuck yourself on his cock — virgin!reader.
he lays you down first.
not to fuck you, not yet—but to calm you. warm palms rubbing the backs of your thighs, his breath in your ear, his voice low like a lullaby made of smoke.
“you don’t have to do anything,” he says, like it’s a secret between you two. “just let me help you. i’ll tell you what to do.”
and you nod because of course. because it’s toji. he’s slow, steady, all muscle and patience, never rushing, never pushing too far. his hands are bigger than your waist. his voice alone makes your stomach pull tight. he’s been touching you like you’re something sacred for weeks—just kisses, just his mouth, just fingers—and now you’re ready.
he’s the one who says you should sit on it. take it yourself, that way you can stop whenever you need to. and he helps you get there—legs shaking as you climb into his lap, facing away from him, your back to his chest, your hands gripping his thighs for balance while his cock stands heavy and thick between you.
you’ve never seen anything that big.
he reaches between your legs and strokes himself once, slow, gathering the wetness slicking your folds, and then guides the thick tip to your entrance.
“breathe, baby,” he whispers behind you, voice low in your neck. “just the tip. go slow. don’t gotta take it all yet.”
but you do. because your body wants it. because the stretch burns, but he’s right there holding you, whispering in your ear.
“that’s it. just like that. open up for me, let me in.”
you sink lower—inch by inch—knees trembling where they brace on either side of his hips. his hands stay on your thighs, warm and grounding, thumbs stroking lazy circles into your skin.
and god, he’s thick. it feels impossible at first, your walls gripping tight around him, fluttering with every inch. but he keeps talking, soft and steady, the filth tucked inside the comfort.
“feelin’ full, huh?” he murmurs. “this your first stretch, baby? first cock in that sweet little pussy?”
you nod, biting your lip hard, and he groans, breath catching like he’s the one struggling to hold it in.
“fuck. you’re squeezin’ me so tight—like you’re scared to let go.”
you are, a little. it hurts, but it hurts so good. like pressure building slow in your belly, heat curling up your spine. his cock is so deep now you can feel it in your gut, your legs shaking from how much you’ve taken.
“you’re doin’ perfect,” he breathes. “fuckin’ perfect. look at you—takin’ all of it, baby. even though you never done this before.”
you can’t speak. can barely breathe. your head tips forward, hair falling around your face as your hips roll instinctively, your body moving just to adjust—and even that tiny grind makes your thighs twitch.
he groans deep behind you.
“you’re fuckin’ yourself on me already, huh?” he laughs, low and filthy. “didn’t even mean to.”
you press your palms against his thighs for balance and do it again—just a slow lift, then drop, and the drag of his cock against your virgin walls makes you moan, high and broken.
“atta girl,” he whispers. “just like that. slow. grind it out. you don’t gotta bounce, just roll those hips and let me stretch you.”
your ass presses back against his stomach as you move, the sound of your wet cunt starting to echo in the room. it’s obscene, slick and sweet, and he watches it all from behind—your pussy stretched wide, his cock disappearing inch by inch, your waist rolling as you ride him.
he leans back, one hand drifting to your belly, palm pressed flat just beneath your navel.
“feel that?” he says, pressing down just a little. “that’s me. right there. so deep you’re bulgin’ for me.”
you gasp, hips stuttering, and he lets out a ragged breath.
“shit, that’s pretty. you’re makin’ me feel so good, baby. like your pussy was made for me.”
you moan at the praise, at the way he says it like a fact, like it’s holy. your body starts to move easier now, pain fading into thick pleasure, your walls relaxing just enough for your hips to pick up rhythm. slow, deliberate, wet.
his hands never leave you. one on your belly, the other gripping your hip, dragging you down every time you lift off him.
“there you go. ride me just like that,” he growls. “don’t stop ‘til you’re cryin’.”
and you might. you’re so full it’s dizzying, your clit pulsing with every drag of his cock inside you. your legs shake as you fuck yourself onto him again, harder this time, your back arching, tits bouncing with every roll.
“you’re gonna ruin me,” he grits out, voice straining. “gonna make me cum in this tight little virgin pussy—first time, and you’re already milkin’ me.”
your nails dig into his thighs now. your breath’s coming fast. the ache is thick and perfect, the burn melting into something addictive.
“you feel good?” he whispers, lips brushing your shoulder.
you nod. “yes. fuck, yes—so good.”
he groans again, hips bucking up beneath you for the first time, and you choke on a moan, legs spread wide and trembling.
“i got you,” he whispers, fucking up into you slow, deep strokes now. “you don’t gotta do anything but take it.”
you collapse back against him, body going limp, letting him move you. you’re nothing but nerve endings and heat now, your body twitching with every thrust, your pussy stretched and dripping, thighs soaked from the mess between you.
his arms wrap around you, one across your chest, the other splayed over your belly, holding you tight as he starts to fuck up into you rougher now—his breath hot in your ear.
“you mine now, yeah?” he pants. “first cock you take, and it’s me?”
you whimper yes, eyes rolling back.
“then cum for me. lemme feel this sweet little cunt pulse around me. make it real.”
you do. of course you do. your body locks, walls spasming around his cock as he fucks you through it, thick and steady, coaxing it out of you like he’s drawing it with his hands.
he groans when he feels it, when he feels you clench. “that’s it. yeah, just like that—fuckin’ perfect.”
you collapse forward, sobbing soft from the pleasure, body spent, and he holds you close as he finally cums inside you—deep, rough groans in your ear, cock pulsing thick as he fills you up.
you don’t even flinch from the stretch anymore. you just sink into him, full and wrecked, held in his lap like something he’d never let go of.
his voice, when he speaks next, is soft again. warm. still a little breathless.
“you did so fuckin’ good for me,” he whispers. “so proud of you.”
you smile. still trembling. still twitching from aftershocks.
“i like this angle,” he adds, playful now, kissing your shoulder. “get used to it. i’m never letting you ride me any other way.”
୨୧ — The divorce papers had been signed that afternoon, three years of marriage reduced to legal documents and a splitting of assets… That’s how Nanami found himself at the local bar, liquid amber burning down his throat, tie loosened, the weight of his wedding ring suddenly unbearable…
Then you walked in.
Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. College girl written in the innocent tilt of your yellow sundress, the way it clings to your waist, your breasts, the hem flirtatiously brushing against your thighs.
You look so sweet, he thought. A drink like the ones the men were buying you would surely corrupt your pretty mouth, but you sipped with an ease that spoke of experience, even when you cringe at the taste, making the guys around you laugh.
It made him think about his wife -his ex wife now- the last time they made love, when she bit her lips to hold back a moan, as if afraid someone might hear. He wondered what noises you would make if you were on top of him, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into your tight pussy.
Would you call out his name? Moan like a whore? Would you beg him to go harder? Deeper? Or would you be shy, too embarrassed to ask for what you really wanted, forcing him to take what he wants, making you take it?
He shook his head and knocked back the rest of his whiskey, trying to clear his mind. You were far too young, far too innocent... Nanami looked away... He had no right to feel this way about a female he didn't know, a girl that had her whole life ahead of her.
You ordered something sweet and fruity while he nursed his drink, watching the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. And then, your eyes met his.
He doesn't remember buying you drinks. Doesn't remember the conversation that led to your hand on his thigh, your breath wine-sweet against his ear as you whispered, "I know somewhere quiet."
But he remembers his Lexus. God, he'll never forget the damn Lexus.
"Fuck-" The word tears from his throat as you sink down onto him, your tight cunt splitty open around his cock like you were made for this moment. The leather seats creak beneath you both, divorce papers scattered on the floor like confetti celebrating his rebirth.
You were so goddamn young, so wet, so eager- everything his ex wife hadn't been in years, and my god... You're so fucking tight it hurts, and he's so fucking thick you can barely breathe around the stretch. Your sundress is hiked up around your waist, his hands fisted in the fabric and your hair- his wedding ring catching strands as he holds you against his body.
"You- mph - you're going to ruin me," His hips jerk up involuntarily, "aren't you?" driving deeper, and you cry out like he's hitting some spot inside of you that only a man like him can reach. He's massive- way more massive than you initially thought, thick enough that your eyes water, that your cunt burns trying to stretch around him. The head of his cock forcing your walls apart, claiming every inch as you slowly take him to the base.
Nanami can feel you trying to adjust to his size, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each bounce as you babble incoherently- "S'too-m'fuckfuckfuck-sh'too big!!" tears leaking from your eyes, "don' ev-even know -hah - your n-name!"
His name is Nanami, but that doesn't matter... He felt how your pussy clenched at your words. You were getting off on the wrongness of the situation, just like he was. The depravity of it- this older man using your young body, his wedding ring cool against your skin.
You don't know him, don't care who he is, and that makes this all the more exciting.
His lips crash against yours, swallowing every little noise you make as he ruts up into your heat, the windows fogging up, the car shaking with the force of his thrusts.
"S'doesn't matter," is all he says, his voice low, husky while his one hand guides your hips in a rhythm that makes his vision blur.
The condom stretches tight around him, already straining from how hard he is, how deep he's buried inside your young cunt. He can feel your orgasm building in the tremor of your thighs, the way your breath comes in desperate little gasps.
When you come, you scream. Actually scream, head thrown back like a religious experience, and your pussy clamps down so hard he sees stars. The sensation drags out his own climax, his hips lifting clean off the seat as he empties himself into the latex barrier.
The condom swells inside you, and you whimper at the added pressure, grinding down like you want to milk every last drop from him. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, wringing another orgasm from your oversensitive nerves.
Afterward, you collapse against his chest, both of you breathing like survivors... His wedding ring still tangled in your hair...
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
It happens again a week later. Then again. And again.
Always his car. Always that same desperate hunger, like he’s trying to fuck the loneliness out of himself. You learn to take him easier, your body adapting to his size, but he never gets used to how perfectly you fit around him.
"Missed this," he groans against your neck as he bends you over in the backseat, your sundress -a different one, pink this time- bunched around your waist, pink lace panties ripped and tossed in the front seat, "Thought about you all week."
His cock twitches inside you, and the way his hands grip your waist possessively, you believe him.
You feel his breath hitch when you start to move against him, grinding your hips back against his, feeling him so deep you could choke on it, the head of his cock pressing so hard- nestled against the opening of your womb. You swear if you looked down you’d see a perfect outline of it stretching out your stomach.
With a cock-drunk smile you can't help but imagine him coming inside you, painting the deepest part of you with his seed. "Mmn, missed this, too, Nanami-san~" you gasp sweetly, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop yourself.
He wants to say more, his tongue heavy with words unspoken- "missed you", "you're beautiful", "god, I can't get enough of you"… He always wants to say more.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he fucks you like he owns you, like your young cunt exists solely for his pleasure.
He never gives you his number, never takes you anywhere but his car, and when he pulls out, the condom is always filled to the brim with his cum- stretched obscenely with your arousal coating the outside.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Three weeks later after he's fucked you stupid in his car, he asks you, "Come home with me tonight." The words are quiet, almost uncertain.
You look up at him from where you’re starting to doze off against his chest, "Your place?"
"My place." His fingers trace patterns on your bare shoulder, "Stay the night."
His apartment is exactly what you’d expected- minimalist, expensive, cold. But his bed is warm, and he fucks you properly there, taking his time to explore your body, to discover the things that made those pretty lashes flutter, those gorgeous lips moan his name., "K-Kento~♡!"
He’s so gentle, so slow, making you come so many times that by the time you finally pass out, the sheets were soaked, his cock still buried deep inside with a condom so full of cum, it nearly split at the seams.
That night Nanami watches you sleep, the way your hair fans out around your face, the little snores escaping your parted lips. He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek, a sudden ache in his chest as he sighs, "What am I doing?" This was wrong, "I'm too old for you," he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours while gathering you in his arms, "This can't be a long-term thing…"
His voice trails off, the warmth of your body against his pulling him under.
"This can't be a long-term thing," he repeats the words in his dreams, and it sounds like a lie.
In the morning, he makes coffee and breakfast… Actual pancakes, not the instant kind from your dorm.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
It becomes routine. Your toothbrush joins his, the spare pajamas in his drawer are yours, and his apartment begins to smell like flowers and the perfume you wear. He drops you off at lectures, picks you up after. Pays for textbooks without blinking. Watches you study at his kitchen table while he cooks dinner, domestic in a way that terrifies him.
Nanami even learns your coffee order at Starbucks- extra vanilla syrup, always, because you're still young and believe sweetness won't hurt you. When the barista flirts with you, his jaw tightens, the way his hand tightens around his own cup. You thought at first that it was just anger, irritation at the line, but-
"Jealous?" You ask as the two of you exit the store, sipping your drinks.
"Why would I be jealous?" He responds coolly, even though his heart is hammering. He keeps trying to tell himself that this isn't an exclusive thing, even if he does call you his pretty girl while you bounce on his cock. It isn't exclusive… even though he bought a new bed to accommodate both of you. A king sized bed, the most comfortable one in the store, because his favorite thing is watching you fall apart beneath him, above him, against him… falling asleep with your scent in his lungs, waking up to your sleepy smile…
You're free to date whoever you want… but the thought makes his stomach churn…
"Beeeecause~ the cute barista was totally hitting on me," You grin, "He even gave me his number on the napkin."
"Oh?" His tone is disinterested, but his jaw ticks, and there's something dark in his eyes when he looks at you.
"Yeah, see," You show him the napkin, and sure enough, the guy had wrote his name and phone number, and-
Nanami stops.
The napkin even has a little note scribbled at the bottom, a flirtatious one saying, Call Me Anytime Cutie ;).
And that's when Nanami snaps.
He drags you back to his car, his grip bruising, and when you look up at him with those big eyes, lashes fluttering innocently… the idea that someone else might touch you like this, might hear the noises you make when you're close, might get to see the look on your face when you come undone, and god, the way you say his name…
Fuck.
He doesn't want to share.
He's become possessive.
And that afternoon he proves it. Has you bent over the hood of his car in the parking garage, splitting you open with his cock while he growls about who you belong to. Your pussy gripping him like a vice, your juices running down the car and dripping onto the cement below as he fucks you harder than he ever has- condom threatening to split around his cock with every thrust.
"Y-Yes!!!~♡," you sob, because it's true. Because somewhere between the first time he made you come and now, you became his completely.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
One morning Nanami comes home after his run, a rare day off, and finds you sitting at his table in the kitchen, dressed only in his button-up, the one he wore to work the day before. Yout hair is still sleep mussed, your favorite mug of his in your hand, and its like his breath leaves him, his heart hammering against his ribs, because for the first time in a long time… Nanami Kento is happy.
He loves you…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck… This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here like this- wife like and wearing his shirt. Greeting him each night he comes home late…
Shit…
Nanami Kento was completely and utterly in love with you.
The realization hits him like a truck, and his mouth at that moment goes dry.
As you turn to him, eyes still sleepy, he also realizes he wants to memorize this moment, to preserve it forever- the early morning sun casting a beautiful glow on your skin, the soft curve of your bare shoulder.
"Mornin', Kento," you smile at him, and he can’t take it anymore. He can’t hide this from you any longer.
"Come here,"
"Mm? What's up?"
"Just-" He can’t speak, not properly, so he grabs your wrist in the most gentle way he can manage and tugs you from your seat, pressing you flush against his body, his hand finding your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.
"K-Kento, what are y-"
"I love you."
Your eyes widen, lips parting, and for a second he’s terrified. Worried that this will change everything, and then-
"I-I love you, too. I just-" You look away for a moment, the sweetest blush spreading across your face- your smile the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, "I just didn’t know how you would- I didn’t want to scare you away…"
God, you could never scare him away. Never. And a part of him hated himself for ever making you feel that way. That the only reason you didn't tell him is because you thought it would drive him away.
"I love you," he breathes again, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his forehead pressing against yours, "So much. You could never scare me away, darling."
The kiss that followed was everything he's ever wanted. Soft, sweet and loving- everything a first kiss should be, and when the two of you part, he whispers your name against your lips, as if trying to reassure himself that this was real.
That night he takes you in his arms, carrying you up to the king size bed so that he can show you just how much he loves you. To show you just how serious he is about you.
"No condom tonight," he whispers in your ear, his arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pulls back to look at your face.
"Mn," You nod, "Sounds fun~, but you know I’m-"
"I know… You're not on the pill," he interrupts, the corners of his mouth quirking up, "but we'll just have to deal with the consequences, won't we?"
The consequences…
He’s never sounded so happy about anything.
"I want to feel you," he breathes, rolling his hips, slowly, deeply, tenderly as he nudges against your entrance, "want to fill you up properly… Make you really mine," he kisses your cheek, "Make a family."
"Ahhn~♡," the moan that is drawn from your lips as his cock sinks into was music to his ears. No latex, no barrier between your bodies, just thick, bare cock spreading you open. It was indescribable- the way he filled you up, the heat of his length, every vein and ridge rubbing deliciously along the sensitive walls of your pussy.
"God, you're perfect," he groans, and when his cock kisses your womb, his hips twitch involuntarily. The thought of his seed flooding your deepest parts was far too alluring- painting your walls white, coating the entrance of your womb, the image of your belly round and heavy with his child making his cock throb inside of you.
"Please~♡" gasping as he fills you completely- not just with his cock, but with the promise of something more permanent.
He cums inside you that night, and every night after, marking you as his in the most intimate way possible.
This started with divorce papers and whiskey, but it had become something else entirely. Something that tastes like forever and feels like coming home.
your feral gojo fic does things to me… you should consider making more pls 🙏🙏 other than that i would one day love to see feral nanami :3 well yk not rlly feral but nanami being furious over his wife’s life being threatened n stuff ykwim TY I LOVE UR WRITING BTW
“APOLOGIZE.”
♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A curse user has made the incredibly stupid decision to kidnap you, Nanami’s wife. And, well, it goes without saying that Nanami is protective over you. Very protective.
♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || dark content, fem reader, angst, violence, kidnapping, descriptions of wounds, blood, and injuries, derogatory language, minor character death. Nanami doesn’t play about his wife!
♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4K
♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Requester, I think I overlooked the “not really feral” part until I was pretty much done with the fic, and Nanami is very unhinged in this. I’m sorry! I hope that’s okay! || artwork by @/shesdeny on instagram, permission for use granted!
The lavish restaurant offered the perfect date night ambience: live music, extraordinary food, and a dimly lit environment that, in truth, was much too dark for Kento Nanami’s liking, but at least he could still see the way your eyes sparkled as you rambled to him.
As Kento brought his glass of silky wine to his lips, he watched you reach for the warm bread in the basket at the center of the table.
Dipping it into the seasoned dipping oil, you took a bite of the sliced piece from the soft loaf as you detailed your last experience with this particular high-end steakhouse.
“ . . . the steak tasted like tires — tires, Kento — but the lobster was amazing! Still, though. I told Felicity that it’s absolutely crazy for a steakhouse to serve steak that I’m certain was made out of rubber bands or something.”
“How is it now? The steak?” Kento asked, nodding down at the half-eaten piece of meat on your plate.
“Delicious and tender,” you smiled at him warmly. That grin of yours? Well, it did something to him. The poor man had to clear his throat and adjust his tie a little bit — even after six years of marriage, your smile always managed to turn his cheeks into a light shade of red.
“They must've changed how they cook ‘em,” you added.
“That, or,” Kento’s hand reached for a piece of bread as he spoke. “I went out of my way to make sure it would be cooked to your liking.”
With a little laugh, you joked, “What? Don’t tell me you threatened the poor chef.”
“Of course not. Only a fool would be rude to the person preparing their meal. If I were, I’d imagine he would have actually served us car tires.”
“And from our own car as well!”
The sound of shared laughter between you and Kento blended in with the cellist’s beautiful melody.
It was perfect. Every bit of it.
The live, talented musicians. The delicious meals. The sight of you, his gorgeous wife, laughing, smiling, and talking throughout the evening.
It was perfect.
Until Kento’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket.
You could hear the low humming noise from where you sat.
“Who’s that?” You asked.
“Doesn’t matter. We’re on a date.”
“But it could be important, right? Sorcerers can’t really afford to miss any phone calls.” Grabbing your knife and fork, you cut off another piece of your steak. “It’s fine, honey. One phone call won’t ruin this date.”
Kento wanted to stand by his beliefs; by the standards he set for himself. Accepting phone calls during a date was rude. Just as rude as showing up carelessly late, or wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
Call it a gut feeling — or common sense, as he purposely put his phone on Do Not Disturb except for a few contacts he knew would only reach out in the case of an emergency — but Kento knew something was wrong.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His eyes narrowed down on the screen that illuminated his frowning face, and there it was.
The confirmation that something was indeed wrong.
Kento answered the phone call. “What is it? I’m busy at the moment.”
The person on the other line talked for quite some time. Though you couldn’t quite make out their words, you had managed to get down three solid bites of steak before Kento spoke again.
“Right,” he said, then promptly ended the call.
“Something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine,” He lied — yet again going against the standards he set for himself. “Would you excuse me for a couple of minutes? I need to get some fresh air. I won’t be long.”
“Woah, woah, hey,” you called out before he could scoot his chair back, noticing the way his eyes, which always softly gazed at you with pure love, refused to meet yours. “I know that look. There’s a curse nearby, isn’t there?”
“No, of course not.”
“Mighty suspicious for a man who nearly passed out over the idea of accepting a quick phone call during a date suddenly being okay with vanishing for a few minutes.” You leaned across the table just a bit. Just enough for him to understand you were quite serious. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on, Kento?”
Kento sighed. But he gave in. He always did when it came to you.
“There’s a curse user a few blocks away-”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“But I could serve as a distraction, and you could sneak up on them, and then-”
“Then nothing. This curse user already outranks me. He’s a special-grade, one we’ve been trying to find for years now. For him to be hanging around outside nearby means that I could be walking into a trap, and I will not use my own wife as bait. I won’t be able to focus if I know you’re around. I need you to stay here, where I know you’ll be safe.”
Kento rose from his seat.
This was, to him, an unnecessary conversation, after all. He would sooner die during a battle with a curse or curse user than drag you into a fight with him.
“Kento, Kento, wait. Please. Why are you about to walk into a special-grade curse user’s setup?” You grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past your seat. “Please don’t go. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Oh, he did too. His heart rate quickened at the idea of his forthcoming mission. Kento couldn’t look you in the eye as he spoke — it was starting to become too much.
“I have to. I can hardly sleep at night knowing someone like him is roaming the streets. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about hurting you or killing you while you’re just on your way to the bakery or . . .” Kento released a shaky sigh. He tried to keep his voice low, not wanting to disturb nearby diners or live classical music enthusiasts, and he continued, “So I have to go. I have to do whatever I can to make this world a safer place for you.”
“Kento, I don’t like this. You know my gut feelings are always spot on. Just last week, I had a feeling that something was off with the dryer, and next thing you know, it broke. I had to squeeze out our towels in the sink and stick them outside until you were able to fix it, remember? Then there was that time when we ordered takeout sushi and I had a bad feeling about it. I didn’t seem spoiled or anything, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we should’ve ordered pizza instead. That next morning, we were both sick.”
Kento looked into your eyes then. The composed man tried to hide his true feelings; that underneath his cool, calm, and collected attitude, there was this feeling of terror he couldn’t quite shake.
“Sweetheart, I’ll be just fine.” He leaned down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I promise.”
And with that, you gave him a little nod though you frowned with great disapproval, and Kento walked through the restaurant’s doors just as the live musicians finished playing a breathtaking song.
—
It was well into the evening on a Wednesday night. Kento was rather busy, and therefore, he had to squeeze in date nights whenever he could — and, damn it all, he would — but being that it was a school and work night for most, the streetlight-illuminated roads were void of people for the most part, especially once he made a left turn into a dark alley.
Kento was tracking the curse user by the residuals he left behind at each location he visited, like a detective following footprints, but the man was no longer here.
He’s sending me on a wild goose chase, Kento thought.
It was like a never-ending game. After all, a special-grade curse user like himself could have decided not to leave behind any residuals. So, for all Kento could have known, he could have chosen to let Kento wander around in alleys like this, meanwhile, his true whereabouts were unknown.
—
Something wasn’t right.
He was taking too long.
You listened to the musicians play song after song. Finished your glass of wine. But, as your leg shook and you continuously checked your phone for the time, you couldn’t simply sit in the high-end steakhouse any longer.
He’s not gonna like knowing I paid the bill, you thought, a small smile spreading across your face at the thought of your classy husband and his gentlemanly tendencies.
But where was he?
You walked down the isolated streets, holding on to the bagged leftovers from your dinner. All you wanted to do was heat the food and enjoy it at home with Kento, then snuggle up in bed where you were both safe. Safe and together.
Glancing around at the empty shops and stores around you made you realize just how far you had strayed from the restaurant. You halted your footsteps, looking back in the direction from which you came.
This area was creepy. The orange streetlights were doing little to shine upon your surroundings, and the lack of people; it was all a telltale sign of incoming doom, you knew it. But what you didn’t know was whether or not your husband was right in the middle of it.
There was a figure approaching you, and three realizations fluttered in and out of mind:
It wasn’t Kento. The stranger lacked his solid build, blonde hair, and clothes suitable for fine dining.
You were happy to see another person walking around this suspicious area.
The person was headed straight for you, and suddenly, you weren’t so happy.
It was a man dressed in black clothing, one who walked fast and with purpose. You found your legs moving on their own, taking two tentative steps back. Your mind and body were in sync. Your mind screamed for you to run, run, and run, while your body turned in the opposite direction, neverminding the fancy dress that clung to your body, or the high heels you were, before now, quite excited to wear.
But it didn’t matter. The stranger’s hand suddenly came into your view and slammed against your mouth, covering it, and muffling the squeal that tried to fight its way out of your throat.
He was further away mere seconds ago. For him to have caught up to you, lightning fast . . . it dawned on you then.
This was the curse user Kento was looking for.
Your eyes went wide. Tears fell from them. You tried — tried like hell — to implement the self-defense techniques from the classes Kento asked you to take, but while an elbow to the gut might have stunned a regular person, this curse user only smiled.
His hand slipped away from your mouth for a second.
It was a second you took advantage of, inhaling a bit of air before screaming, “Help, please!”
He grabbed you then. He lifted you over his shoulder. Your high heels were no longer touching the sidewalk. The food you were carrying slipped from your hands, splattering across the ground.
Pointless screams and calls fell from your lips: “Let me go! Please, let me go!” “Someone help!” “Kento! Kento!”
But, as you were being carried away, as you struggled and squirmed, it hit you then why this curse user no longer bothered to cover your mouth.
There was no one around who could save you.
—
Kento Nanami was often praised for being a sorcerer who had his head screwed on straight. After all the gore and violence he had witnessed, he was still what most would consider to be an ordinary man with a decent mental health state.
That was why he stopped walking the second he heard what sounded like the sound of your voice, screaming his name. It was faint. Came from far enough away that it might as well have been the wind blowing past his ear.
But he hadn’t ever heard voices in the wind or hallucinated figures along the walls, but . . . but you were fine, right? You had to be. You were sitting in the restaurant, waiting for him, right?
He turned his head back and forth along the empty sidewalk, but in the end, his gut told him something was wrong.
Damn what the higher-ups would say. He was worried about his wife right now. He was certain you must’ve been worried about him too.
Therefore, he tugged on his tie a bit, and headed back to the restaurant, abandoning his search for the curse user.
—
“Did you see this woman leave this establishment?”
Kento asked the hostess frantically once he noticed a new couple was sitting in your previous spots. He held his phone up to her face, and her startled eyes glanced up at a grinning photograph of you.
“I-” she stammered. “Yes, she left a while ago.”
“Thank you,” Kento rushed out, and then practically bolted out of the see-through doors.
You were gone. His wife was gone.
He felt it then, his heart rate quickening, his breathing becoming uneasy.
Kento stood outside the restaurant, scanning his surroundings to see if, perhaps, you wanted to get some fresh air, but you were the love of his life. And he knew you quite well.
He knew you went off, searching for him after he didn’t return within a reasonable amount of time.
Kento opened a map on his phone. One that would reveal your location to him. The beautiful photo of you he set for your contact was unmoving, as if his wife were standing on a random sidewalk. As he started to run in that direction, his palms broke out into a sweat.
He was headed in the supposed direction of the curse user’s whereabouts.
—
When Kento stumbled upon the mess made along the sidewalk, he both wanted to cry, and kill someone.
To-go boxes were scattered about, leftover food spilled and splattered. Among the mess was your cracked cell phone.
“Oh my god,” Kento whispered to himself. “She’s . . .”
You’re what, exactly? What became of you? Where were you?
—
It took an hour.
One hour.
One fucking hour before Kento was able to track down the clever curse user.
The sorcerer stepped into a dark alley. He was heaving, his teeth clenched. His hand gripped the handle of his blade so hard, his knuckles turned white.
The special-grade curse user stepped out from behind a dumpster then, a gentle smile upon his face, his hands in his pocket.
“You took her.”
The curse user’s smile widened at the sound of Kento’s voice — at the sound of his anger — and he laughed lightly.
“Oh, hey, I know you. Mr. Nine-to-five, seven-to-three, ten-to-six — something like that, right? For you to be here now, you must have started your day later than usual, or . . .” The curse user vanished behind the dumpster, but only to roughly drag out what Kento assumed was a bag of garbage. But he was wrong. It was you. “I made the right decision when I captured this thing I saw you eating dinner with. You care enough about someone to work overtime, hm? How sweet.”
The curse user released the grip he had on your hair, letting you hit the filthy ground.
Kento’s eyes went wide at the sight of you. But not out of the shock of discovering his wife was here, but upon seeing the condition you were in.
The horrible condition.
Both of your high heels were broken. The destroyed shoes loosely clung to your feet, and Kento trailed his eyes over the palette of colorful bruises and cuts that spread across your trembling legs. Your dress was tattered and ripped in random places, and though your dress was red, he could tell the difference between the fabric and your blood stains.
The diamond necklace you wore was soaked in the wet blood that seeped from your mouth, down your neck, and across your heaving chest.
Your face was a drastically different sight compared to the stunning photograph of you, smiling. The one he sent to all of his friends.
He couldn’t see the makeup you took the time to excitedly apply in preparation for your date. He couldn’t see the cheeks he loved to kiss every morning, nor the lips he cherished feeling against his own every night.
Instead, he saw an enormous, bleeding gash running from the top of your ear, across your cheek, and through your upper lip. Your eye was swollen. Blood and tears coated your skin so much so, you would nearly inhale it into your mouth and choke.
The curse user raised his foot.
He brought it down on your injured head — a yelp shot out of your throat — and your head was smushed between the ground and his boot.
Kento charged at him — he tried, at least.
The curse user raised his hand, and suddenly, Kento’s body froze. He couldn’t move a muscle.
Of course. This special grade had the power to halt moving objects and people as he saw fit.
He didn’t use it as often as one would think, a sick bastard like him enjoyed watching his targets struggle, but he could feel the anger practically radiating off of Kento Nanami, and he refused to take his chances.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not another step,” the smiling curse user said. “Are you one of those men that like ‘em dumb? ‘Cause your wife isn’t that bright, ya know? Wandering the streets all alone, searching for you, I bet. You told her not to follow you, didn’t you? You ought to train your little bitch to follow orders better. What a useless dog.”
“Ken-to-”
“See what I mean? I told her not to speak, scream, or any of that, but she just won’t shut up. How do you put up with her talking, talking, and talking non-stop?” The curse user removed his foot from your head. His hand gripped your hair yet again, yanked you back so roughly, a burning pain soared throughout your scalp, and he wrapped his other hand around your blood-covered neck. “I’ll shut her pretty little mouth up for you permanently.”
The curse user started choking you right before Kento’s eyes.
Your bruised hands and split fingernails clawed at his skin, but it did nothing. Your legs started to squirm from pure panic, and Kento could do nothing except watch.
Out of the corner of the curse user’s eye, he noticed Kento’s body starting to tremble.
His satisfied smile changed into a confused frown.
He looked up at him fully, and his lips parted, a gasp escaping him as he saw your husband’s hand started to rise. He could only move slowly. And fighting against this cursed technique hurt like hell.
But he could still move.
Impossible.
Your husband’s fingers hooked around his tie, and he pulled it off, then wrapped it around his hand.
The curse user barely had time to blink before he felt the impact. He was in the air for a second, uncertain if he was hit with a fist or a blade, but whatever it was, it made his skull ache terribly, but that didn’t terrify him nearly as much as the fact that this man could move right now.
His back smacked against the ground with an unpleasant thud. Blood spewed from his mouth, and he heard haunting footsteps. Ones that belonged to the pissed-off sorcerer, who he swore — he swore — had doubled in size compared to the pictures his fellow curse users had shown of him.
“How can you move? You-”
Kento interrupted the curse user by slamming his wrapped fist into his mouth.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Hurting my wife? Speaking to her that way?” He did it again. And again. And again. “I’ll shut you up permanently."
You scooted yourself into a corner beside the dumpster, gasping for air as you watched your husband stand over your attacker and continuously smash his face in until he experienced a pain greater than your own.
The curse user gagged.
“Listen to that. The sound of you choking on your own teeth. It sounds like music to me,” Kento said darkly.
His fist was covered in blood. The curse user’s face was a mess of said blood. But Kento wasn’t finished. He thought about how terrified you must have been. How much your wounds must have hurt. How someone as kind as you was undeserving of the pain you were in.
God, he wanted to kill this bastard, bring him back to life, and kill him again.
The curse user turned his bloodied head to the side, trying to spit out some of the blood filling his mouth, but Kento placed his foot on the man’s head, squishing him in between his shoe and the ground — just like he had the nerve to do to you, Kento’s precious wife, earlier.
“I can’t let you die just yet. You tortured the love of my life. I think it’s only fitting I prolong your suffering until you’re on your knees before her, apologizing,” Kento kneeled, grabbing the curse user’s hand. “These are the hands you hurt her with, hm? I don’t think you have any further use for them.”
You knew what was coming when Kento grabbed his wrapped blade. You closed your eyes — though your swollen one was practically already closed — and you brought your trembling, injured hands to your ears, but you could still hear the curse user’s ear-piercing screams.
The curse user had only cried twice before in his life. When he fell during a game of tag as a toddler, and now.
Now, tears poured from his eyes, and he was spewing gibberish that Kento couldn’t quite understand for a moment. Not until he saw the apologetic look in the man’s teary eyes.
“What are you trying to say? Are you trying to apologize to me? Why?” Kento raised his bloody blade. “She’s the one you had the audacity to disrespect. She’s the one you put your filthy hands on. She’s the one. And after all of this, you still don’t respect her enough to think she’s worthy of her own, sincere apology, do you?”
Kento grabbed the man by his short hair. He then dragged him in your direction before tossing his limp body in front of your trembling figure.
“Apologize to my wife, then I’ll send you to hell where you belong. Apologize.”
More gibberish. It wasn’t good enough — the man couldn’t speak, after all, but it didn’t matter how great his apology was.
He was going to die.
Kento kicked the curse user in the side.
He sent him flying, rolling across the dirty ground, and Kento approached, daydreaming about all the ways he’d take a life tonight.
By now, Kento’s blonde hair, which was usually neat, was messy with sweaty blonde strands sticking to his forehead. He took off his blood-covered suit jacket, tossing it on the ground, and the shirt he wore underneath was unbuttoned, stained, and revealed his bulging muscles and veins.
Kento raised his fist. The tie he wrapped around it was not only covered in the blood of the curse user, but dotted in the blood from Kento’s splitting knuckles as well, but he didn’t care. He punched that man like his life depended on it.
—
As time passed, it wasn’t until a large hand wrapped around his wrist, seizing his movements, did Kento realize he had beaten man to death.
“That’s enough, Nanami. He’s dead.”
The voice belonged to Satoru Gojo. Kento recognized it, even with that rarely-heard serious tone, but he hadn’t yet bothered to look at the white-haired man just yet. His eyes were still on the curse user.
Kento rose to his feet then, breathing heavily.
“He hurt her.”
“I know. I saw her,” Satoru replied, though he hadn’t yet let go of Kento’s wrist. He wasn’t sure if it was wise to do so. “Take a coupla deep breaths, okay?”
Kento didn’t listen. He snatched his arm away from Satoru with a strength that even surprised the world's strongest sorcerer, and he made his way over to you.
Satoru watched him walk away as their assistant, Kiyotaka Ijichi, approached him from behind.
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Satoru said to the dark-haired man, watching as Kento got down on his knees before you. “Knowing he beat a special-grade curse user to death is just terrifying. I mean, look at that guy.”
Satoru glanced down at the deceased curse user, and Kiyotaka did the same, adjusting his glasses.
“That man died half an hour ago, and Nanami was still . . .” Satoru released a breath. “It’s my fault. I should’ve gotten here quicker. Then, maybe, his wife would’ve been fine, and he wouldn’t have had to go that far.”
“Well, at least they’re both still alive. We should be grateful for that,” the assistant said, then turned, making his way back to his parked car just outside the alley.
—
Kento gently scooped you up, holding you against him. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. I know it hurts. You must be freezing.”
You tried to turn away from him, not wanting your husband to see the state that your face was in, but he softly touched your chin and guided your teary gaze back in his direction.
He held you close then. Trying his hardest to keep you warm.
Kiyotaka approached cautiously with a purple blanket in hand. He reached down slowly, and held it out to Kento, who took it and said, “Thank you.”
The disheveled man wrapped the blanket around your trembling body, only pausing when he heard you trying to speak — an utterly painful act, thanks to your crying, your bruised throat, and your split lip.
“This is . . . this is all my fault. I just wan-wanted . . .”
“Shhh, don’t try to speak. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I never should have left you alone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Kento’s thumb graced the dried specks of blood on your cheek. “I can’t believe someone did this to you. I can’t believe I . . .”
“Shhh,” You shook your head. The last thing you wanted was for him to blame himself.
“We’re going to take you to the hospital. Close your eyes and get some rest.” Kento rose to his feet with you in his arms. As gently as he could — with a gentleness that was a sharp contrast compared to the way he brutally murdered someone moments before — Kento pressed a kiss against your forehead. “I love you. And I promise you no one will ever hurt you again.”
ex-husband!toji, like a dog, always finds his way back home. it’s late, just past two, and the kitchen light’s still on. you’re on the couch bare-legged, eating cereal out of a chipped mug with your feet tucked under a blanket that smells of his old deodorant.
you left the chain dangling on the door. he comes in all muscle memory. two knocks, shoulder to the frame. he uses the key under the mat to open it, even shuts it soft when he steps inside.
boots are toed off on entry. wallet tossed on the shelf. toji scans the apartment the way he used to when it was his, too. a confused rattling of papers paired with an evidently unsatisfied grunt, tells you he sees that you finally pawned the ring.
he walks behind you. doesn’t touch. but the heat from him rolls under the hem of your shirt and kisses at all the places he’s been before. you know what he wants. you know he’s not good at asking.
“really?” his voice drags, thick with sleep or liquor or a night too long to name. “still with this thing?”
he seems to forget, considerably often these days, that he was the first one to call it quits.
“you forget your key?” you ask, wiping at the milk stain developing on the pillow under your mug.
the spot on the table where the finish is still worn from his ashtray, wears the same shape.
he shrugs, steps to the fridge, grabs a beer. from your stash, the cheap kind he used to complain about but never stopped drinking because you didn’t want to do it alone. the door whines as he closes it with his hip.
he leans against the counter, elbows digging into it like it’s still his apartment as much as it is yours. as if you’re not the only name on the lease now.
“i was nearby,” his voice sits on the tile.
you dry your hands on the hem of your sleep shirt and turn just enough to see him. he’s wearing a dark blue hoodie—new, you think. hands in his pockets. eyes on your legs. hair damp from wherever he came from tonight. he blinks slow, wipes under one eye with the back of his hand like he’s been driving for hours.
“saw you went to that new ramen place on 6th.”
you frown, feet already moving to the bathroom for the eye drops you keep in the cabinet, exactly for this purpose. “and how do you know that?”
his mouth twitches into a grin. “i got eyes.”
“plus, you posted about it.” he follows you in, watches the dripping faucet instead of your face.
(you haven’t posted anything in two weeks.)
“was that the guy?”
you grab the box, open it and blow at the dust on the bottle while you read the expiration date.
“that lawyer-looking one,” he clarifies, slurring the letters together. “greek nose. boring mouth.”
you grab his face in your hand, chin in palm and cheeks between thumb and pointer. “are you drunk?”
“only a little.” his eyes travel over your face because he feels like he hasn’t seen it in ages, and seeing it now is being hooked up to oxygen after days of not being able to breathe. “i wouldn’t bring him home.”
you tilt his head up, watching the droplets fall and his blinks get faster. he looks thankful. you miss him.
you can’t tell him that, because it hurts you just as much to say it, him as much to hear it. so instead you pull him to the couch, sleepy figure looming over yours as you tuck yourself in while he stares.
you jab the side of his thigh with your heel, thinking he’s being a creep, but he catches your ankle under the blanket and holds it right there. thumb brushing over your shin and pupils wet.
“why are you really here, toji?” you tug at the hem of his hoodie, gaze not leaving his.
the scar on his lip twitches whenever he lies, you remember. “was cold out. found the key.”
“that key was supposed to be for emergencies.”
you pat the spot next to you, scooting over when he lets go of your ankle to lift the blanket and slide under. he fits against you just like he used to, but somehow, your heart aches just like it’s empty.
“i don’t know what else to call it.”
he buries his face into your hair, curls in so you’re snug back to chest. “can i sleep here tonight?”
you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see. “why would i let you?”
“because i’m asking.” a soft kiss to your cheek.
he tugs you close, hand snug on your leg.
“and because i think you’re still mad,” he murmurs, the liquid courage turning sour. “but you made double portions of everything for dinner. i saw.”
without asking, he lies down right there, head in your lap, shirt riding up over the tattoo on his hip. your middle name in kanji and a few lotus flowers.
he’s pushing back into the arms of the couch. pulling the blanket higher. fitting himself into the part of your life that never fully shut the door on him.
₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: in the week following the hospital discharge, nanami's thrown into the married life. affection, routines, looking over photobooks - anything to help him remember. but will it ever be enough?
part 2 to the memory loss!husband nanami fic (part 1 here)
word count: 3.7k
this is what married life is, nanami learns.
sleeping next to his wife. he practices breathing deeply in bed, letting his body soften next to you as you squish your cheek against his chest, mumbling something incoherent at 3am.
he pulls the blanket over your shoulders when you pass out in front of the tv. sometimes he finds you folded over the cushions whilst waiting for him to come back from a grocery run. other times, when you've stumbled back home late from another midnight shift, grumbling quiet thank yous when he carries you bridal style back to the bed.
in the evenings, he does the dishes whilst you shower. dinners are homecooked, nutritious meals curated meticulously by nanami researching recipes and walking around various different grocery stores during the day.
sometimes, a recipe calls for something incredibly rare and difficult to find in store. but the hours of frustration and mild inconvenience wash away when he can see how your eyes light up upon tasting his cooking, feet kicking in delight under the table.
"it's perfect, nanami."
then in the mornings, he grinds your preferred brand of coffee beans to perfection - calculating the exact temperature and time needed to make your morning coffee the way you like it. he's pre-packed your lunch, ironed your coat, and checked the weather forecast for the day.
"bring an umbrella, love. it says it'll rain later on in the day."
it's strange, this married life of his. his wife knows him infinitely better than he does: all his little quirks and cravings, what he's thinking about, and what he might do.
whilst he's still learning as much as he can about you: puzzle pieces slowly being fit together over domestic routines and wine dinners.
"i think what you need right now is time off of work. and i mean real, genuine time off. slow days filled with routine. no curse chasing or late office nights." your tone was light, but it was laced with the kind of finality common amongst doctors that made it clear: this was not up for debate.
"if those are my doctor's orders." he'd quietly teased, fingers tapping against his teacup.
"they are."
"then it's done." he'd paused, before adding on. "and maybe, it'll help me remember."
"maybe." you'd admitted, weary optimism on your lips.
he'd placed a warm hand on top of yours, trying to give you his most reassuring smile.
"i know it'll happen. not a matter of if, but when."
that had been a week ago.
and on weekdays like today, nanami spends most of the day counting the hours until you return home.
at this point, he has a mental list of things to get done in the house. fulfilling each task carries a slither of hope that his past will suddenly jolt back to life, a familiar routine unlocking his brain.
but mostly, it feels like an odd guessing game of who he was before, what his marriage was like before the accident.
he waters the flowers by the windowsill (peace lilies and marigolds). he doesn't know if these were planted a month or three months ago. or if they were your idea's to get or his.
he washes, dries, irons, and folds the laundry. sometimes, when he's re-arranging the closet, nanami discovers a new piece of clothing that bears semblance to something important. just holding it in his hands elicits a strong emotion, though he can't exactly place what he's feeling or why.
he fluffs up the cushions on the couch, vacuums the oak wooden floors, and scrubs down the marble kitchen counter till it shines. he passes by polaroids stuck to fridge magnets and printed photos bookmarking half-read books, snapshots of a life he cannot remember.
his hand on your thigh on a sunny beach. your frozen laugh and his scowl at someone's birthday party (he guesses), with frosting caking half his face. a fluffy white cat snoozing on his chest in a sneaky photo clearly taken by you, as nanami's left arm covers his eyes in a midday nap.
as if on cue, a gentle meow interrupts his thoughts. yuki pouncing onto the kitchen table, her light blue eyes burning holes into his head.
"hello yuki." nanami mutters, setting down his cleaning products for the first time in hours. it's only then he realizes that he hasn't sat down since 9am, and he gladly collapses onto the nearest armchair.
yuki is watching the whole ordeal from the kitchen counter, her tail swishing as if she's deep in thought, her piercing blue eyes never leaving his figure.
nanami suddenly remembers your comment from earlier this morning.
"it's weird. it's like she recognizes you, but knows that you're not the same."
yuki meows again, extending one paw towards him, a tell that previous nanami would have understood instantly but one which puzzles him in the present. instinctively, his hand raises to pet the top of her head, his thumb carefully stroking the fur on top.
her spine tenses at first, eyes flickering in hesitation, before she suddenly melts in to his touch. rubbing her face closer to his calloused palm, she eventually climbs up his back and onto his shoulder. head nudging the crook of his neck, fur tickling his bare skin.
he attempts to finish up the rest of his cleaning with her on his shoulders, but she meows in protest every time he tries to resume cleaning - her tail nearly slapping him in the face with dissatisfaction.
"what now, yuki?" he wonders aloud, amused. the cat simply stares at him, then at the door of the home office, before looking back at him. "you want me to go there?"
she meows again, as if understanding every word he's saying. thinking maybe she's managed to lock one of her toys in the room, he slightly pushes the door open. to his surprise, she instantly bolts through the gap to curl up against the bottom drawer of his desk, a space he hadn't really bothered to look at given his break from work.
"what is it, you silly cat?" he mumbles to himself, crouching down. curiosity getting the better of him, with yuki watching him quietly from the corner of the room, he pulls open the drawer to find a heavy stack of leather books.
his breath hitches at the discovery.
they aren't just any books.
they're photo books.
hundreds of pages of dated photos pasted messily next to faded handwriting (yours and his), sandwiched between crinkled receipts and ripped out pages of travel brochures.
tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, he turns the first page.
he needs a pen and paper, he thinks.
=================
you're so tired when you close the door behind you that you don't immediately call out for your husband, your first priority being to shrug off your coat (hanging it messily by the front door) and toss your work bag onto the couch (to be dealt with later).
you frown when you turn the corner and don't see him in the kitchen. he's usually standing there when you've returned from the hospital, adding the final few garnishes to whatever dish he'd decided on cooking, sculpted face pulled in deep concentration.
stumbling into the shared bedroom, where he sometimes like to draw a bath for you, knees folded over the floor as his hands dip into the tub to check the temperature - you also find it empty, though perfectly cleaned and organized as always.
"uh... hello?" you question aloud, returning to the living room.
"in here, darling."
his voice comes out muffled from the last place you expect him to be: the spare room converted to an office. when you carefully creak open the door, hesitant eyes trying to find his, you find that his usual work files and binders have now been thrown onto the floor.
instead, his desk has been transformed to a glorious mess of half-opened photobooks and hurriedly scribbled notes. he murmurs a quiet hello, eyebrows furrowing in a deep concentration, the type that you know you can't easily break him out of. his shirt is slightly unbuttoned, cuffs rolled up past his elbow, and his cup of tea is no longer hot when you touch it to move it out of the way.
"what... are you doing, nami?" your question comes out as more of a whisper, shock minimizing your voice.
you think he's going to ignore you for a moment, as his gaze is unwavering from the pages and his hand continues to furiously scribble onto the notebook, until he suddenly slows down.
"if i can't remember, i figured..." his voice is hoarse, voice hollow as he continues to avoid your gaze. "i should learn."
your heart breaks at his confession.
because it's so like him to try and recall his marriage the way someone would memorize an equation or re-organize a budget.
analytical. studious. data driven.
the petname escapes your lips without you even realizing.
"oh, honey..."
your trembling hand touches his shoulder, squeezing his collarbone in a comforting manner. he's watching you nervously as you sit down onto his lap, his pen now long forgotten on the edge of the desk when his hands move on their own accord to touch your skin. left hand drawing circles onto your knee, right hand sneaking up to link fingers with yours.
the two of you stay like that for a few moments, your head finding its resting position against his chest, the only sounds in the room being the ceiling fan whirring above and the steady breathing of your joint bodies.
you feel him take in a deep, shaky breath, and look up in time to see him finally looking down at you. gaze burning, voice low when he speaks.
"i'm sorry i still don't remember."
you notice his hands are shaking as well, as you try and calm him down with your own touch, fingers curling around his.
"i-i thought maybe if we gave it time. if i did the domestic routines. if i, fuck, looked through the photos-"
his voice is so heavy with guilt and self-hatred that you can't stand it.
"don't blame yourself, kento." you cut him off, shifting around in his grasp to cup his face with your hands. "you've done nothing wrong. and i'm so appreciative of you even trying."
"still..." he trails off, unconvinced. his head finds its way to rest on your shoulder, pale eyelids slowly blinking. "i wish it was enough."
and just what are you supposed to say to that?
what can you say to that?
your broken husband, still trapped in the past?
ignoring the thundering in your own heart, you just smile, squeezing his hands again.
"you never know what might happen, okay? you just have to take it one step at a time."
nanami lets the optimistic comment hang in the air, appreciative of the comfort but letting out a deep sigh of frustration. your weak smile is confirmation that you empathize with him, your smaller hand now drawing circles onto his palm.
"it's a Friday." you offer. "let's just... sleep late and do whatever we want over the weekend."
he laughs at that - the melody short, but sweet. his eyes crinkles at the corners and his whole body reverberates when he does.
"sounds perfect. then would you like to pick the movie for tonight?"
you raise your eyebrows.
"i picked last time."
"mmm, and I'm letting you pick again this time."
dinner is thai takeout - both of you too drained to cook and wash up. you fall asleep with your head on his lap and yuki curled into your chest, whilst nanami's lost in his thoughts till 3 in the morning.
thinking.
pondering.
worrying.
====================
when you wake up the next morning - miraculously in bed, tucked in, and in your comfortable sleepwear - someone is knocking at your door, waking you up. rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, eyes bleary and still half-closed, you stumble over to the doorway and open it to find nanami.
he's impeccably dressed, hair slightly cut and styled, holding a large bouquet of flowers in his hands.
it's as if someone has suddenly dumped fifty gallons of ice water onto you. and you feel wide awake, blinking at him wordlessly, your tired brain taking extra long to make sense of the situation.
"i've been.... thinking." he starts off, slow and deliberate. you're still staring at him, dumbfounded, only being able to nod along.
"yes?"
"if i can't remember our past... i want to at least create our future together. now."
you raise your eyebrows, unsure of where this is going.
"okay..."
"how does a romantic day out sound?" he asks, offering you the bouquet of flowers in his hands. you look down at them and see it's from the flower shop you've always wanted to visit down the street, purple hyacinths intertwined with yellow daffodils and red roses.
you accept the flowers with a slightly opened mouth, sleep-fogged brain needing a few moments to grasp the weight of his words, before you're jolted to reality.
"nanami kento, are you asking me to go on a date with you?"
he flushes red at that, coughing nervously.
"i suppose i am."
you would tease him more, enjoying the way his muscles tense and his handsome face contorts in worry, but there's something so precious about your own husband asking if he can take you out on a date. so you swallow your remarks and grin like an idiot.
"sure. i mean yes, i'd love that."
he refuses to tell you much about what he's planned for the day, your biggest hint being to wear comfortable walking shoes. you chastise him for staring at you for too long when you touch up your makeup in the mirror, him raising his two hands in mock surrender, and you swear your heart might explode from how much you adore this man when he ties up your shoelaces for you in the hallway.
"ready?"
"ready."
his first choice is a bakery uptown. pastries and coffee, latte foam on his upper lip that you smear away with with your thumb. (and you don't miss how deeply he flushes red when you lick your thumb afterwards, him mumbling something that you don't quite catch but still makes you giggle nonetheless).
he asks you if he can hold your hand before he's leading you to a nearby park, cherry blossoms floating down from the sky, covering the ground in pink confetti.
"hold on."
his left hand doesn't drop yours as his right slides up to take a lone pink petal out of your hair, tossing it to the side and continuing to walk with you as if nothing happened. a small group of elderly woman "aw" out loud from the side and you look away, embarrassed, but nanami just smiles wide in a way that says he has no regrets.
next is a 30 minute train ride to an aquarium, his tall muscular physique sticking out amongst the hordes of schoolchildren on their school trips and exasperated parents running after their toddlers. you're too busy marveling at the fish, the endless blue water, the colorful corals - to realize that nanami's looking more at you than the tanks.
"woah, do you see how big that eel is?" you squeal out, pressing yourself against the glass.
"mmhmm." is his response, affirmative but his mind elsewhere. he's too busy committing to memory how full of wonder and joy you look - fingers tracing the cold glass, giggling at the sting ray passing by the glass roof, face glowing with happiness. his stomach full of warmth, skin buzzing with love.
lunch is quick and convenient - a bento box and green tea from 7/11, nanami happily sacrificing his chopsticks for you to use when you realize you've forgotten to get a pair. (it just gives him an excuse to have you feed him mouthfuls in between bites).
when the sun begins to set, he steals you away to an italian restaurant hidden between a bank and a local library.
ever the gentleman, nanami takes off your coat and pulls out the chair for you when the waiter confirms his reservation. and when you try to put down your handbag on the floor, he stops you. saying it'll get dirty, before hanging in on the coat rack beside his seat.
to strangers looking in, it looks like a first date. nanami's asking all kinds of questions about yourself - what's your favorite movie, what do you like to do during your time off, do you have any siblings - and his hand occasionally brush against yours resting on the table. lingering, but soft, the type of touch only two people truly comfortable with each other could do.
when the pasta comes, he lets you take as many photos as you want before he starts eating, offering you as many bites of his dish as you want. he refills your glass of water before you even have to ask for it, and his eyes never dip below to stare at his phone while you talk.
"god, you're brilliant." he suddenly says mid-conversation, voice soft with sincerity. you were half way through describing how you two had first met - him wheeled in by stretcher to the ER, a panicked gojo yelling for help in every direction with you the only available ER doctor working on christmas day.
his sudden compliment makes you hot with embarrassment, causing you to nervously twirl your fork in your pasta in an effort to suppress your shyness.
"what's with the sudden compliment, nanami?"
he shrugs, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.
"how could I not compliment my stunning wife?" he seems almost proud to make you embarrassed, a faint smirk on his lips.
you narrow your eyes at him in accusation.
"... you know, you were nowhere near this flirty on our first date."
"really? what was i like on our first date?"
"a little tense. you hit your knee on the table while pulling out the chair for me and then you apologised three times for mispronouncing prosciutto when you were ordering."
the tips of his ears flush red and he's quick to change the subject.
he asks about your first impression of him (bloodied but handsome), who said i love you first (him), whose idea it was to adopt yuki (yours). anything and everything, your answers slowly filling out the missing spots in his brain, anything to piece together his past.
the hours flow by quickly, the sun now fully set over the horizon, your smile brightened by the golden glow of the candlelight.
this is heaven, nanami thinks.
and when he's walking back home with you hand in hand after the dinner, sharing an ice cream cone that is quickly devoured and leaves a sheer strawberry gloss on your lips, his body actually itches with the urge to kiss you.
he hasn't dared yet, since he's woken up. the most he's done is hug you, hold your hand, and wrap his body around you in bed when you sleep (his favorite).
but he's wanted to, of course. god, has he wanted to so badly at points. when you'd woke up shaking from a nightmare, when you'd squish yuki in your arms and quiet her protests with soft kisses on her fur, the urge to kiss you nearly deadly when he found out gojo used to have the biggest crush on you before you two were married.
but he's been over rationalising to himself - he's only "known" you for 2 weeks. even if his body has this constant pull towards you, like the moon pulling the tides back from the oceans each night, he's been telling himself to take it slow.
the last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you, what in between the never ending hospital shifts and this situation.
"what's bothering you?" you ask, pausing mid-step, breaking him out of his thoughts.
"hm?"
your eyes survey his stoic expression, but something tells him you can read the truth beneath his micro-expressions and calm facade.
"your face is scrunching up in your 'i'm debating something seriously' face. is something wrong?" you joke, pushing his shoulder lightly.
nanami pauses, considering his options for responding.
fuck it, he thinks.
"yes, something is wrong."
your eyes widen, being genuinely taken back by his answer. but he doesn't leave you too long to guess.
"i want to kiss my date silly even though it's only my first date with her." he admits, hands dropping down to above your waist. still respectful, but daringly more intimate than any time before.
you smile so wide your face actually hurts.
"well, good thing you're already married to her." you retort, stepping closer.
he returns your smile - with that boyish, handsome smile that lifts the corner of his mouth and raises his dimples.
"you're damn right."
then in a flash, before you can even blink, his lips are on yours. the taste: a mix of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. his hands come up to cradle your face, and he's so gentle with how he moves your jaw, his fingertips brushing your skin so tenderly as if he's trying to kiss away every worry and sorrow you've felt for the past two weeks.
it's long-awaited.
it's desperate.
but above all, it's loving.
he's cradling you as if you're the most precious artifact in the world. and the way he's looking at you when he pulls away momentarily (dazed, bewitched, hungry), before kissing you again, makes you dizzy.
it feels like ten minutes have passed, when he finally pulls away, ending the kiss with swollen lips. his mouth remains hovering only a few inches away from yours, and your mind still feels hazy from the fireworks.
"i... i still wish i could remember." he chuckles, voice breaking. but this time, there's a certain lightness to his tone. "god, do i wish i'd remember what it was like for the past two years as your husband, instead of hearing about it or seeing pictures of it. but-"
he presses a kiss to your lips again, this time firmer and stronger, teeth grazing your bottom lip. you swear his eyes are golden now: bright, energetic, swirls of yellow reflecting from the streetlamps up ahead.
"but falling in love with you again... isn't so bad."
and you can't help but agree - pulling him down by his necktie for another kiss.
a/n: soooo i have a couple of announcements to make at the bottom of this fic.
(1) i will be posting a part 3 at some point which will be an alternate ending to part 1 (I won't say more than that bc I don't wanna spoil the surprise!!!). (2) there were so many ways i thought of taking this chapter and it took way longer than i anticipated to write/edit because I didn't want to post something I wasn't proud of. so thank you all for your patience and i hope this was servicable uwu. (3) finally, thank you for all your love on this (now) amnesiac husband nanami series! i cannot describe how overwhelmed with joy I've been for all the love it's received and for all the funny/heartfelt comments, reblogs and asks people have sent me. i hope to see you all for part 3 soon x
ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★
₍^. .^₎⟆ synposis: a little girl suddenly grabs nanami's legs in the park, insisting that he's a prince. he's not, but he can certainly act as the prince charming to the girl's beautiful single mother being harassed by a stranger.
word count: 1.5k
nanami can feel his spine practically collapsing in on itself, the exhaustion of the week still hanging heavy.
one too many curses, late night assignments, his damn shower not working for a full 24 hours followed by his air conditioning... the sweltering July heat doesn't make things better, his head resting against the cool window of the bus as the vehicle slows to his stop.
finally.
the only thing that's been keeping him going has been the thought of grabbing lunch at his favorite soba place, a hole-in-the-wall only twenty minutes from his apartment.
stepping off, he takes in the sounds of the rushing water of the fountain and giggling children from the park nearby. it's a hazy Saturday afternoon, and the park is filled with exhausted parents and over excited toddlers zooming across the playground. a few dogs trot behind their owners on the track, a teenage couple nearly knocks him over as they attempt to maneuver a two-seater bicycle together, and-
someone grabs his leg.
looking down, he sees a small child - no older than two years old - grabbing onto his right leg for dear life. his eyes immediately soften, before looking up to look for her parent. not seeing anyone who might fit the bill, he crouches down to meet the little girl's eyeline.
"yes?"
"prince." she responds, tugging the fabric of his trousers.
the comment completely catches him off guard, eyes blinks a few times in silence, before he snaps back into responding.
"prince?"
"you a prince?" she mumbles again, eyes sparkling with fascination, and it causes a small smile to break out across his lips.
"a prince? I... I don't think so."
she frowns at his response, the most adorable huff being exclaimed as she shakes her ways sideways at his denial.
"no. you prince. from book."
a beat passes as nanami wrestles with himself on how to respond to this little girl adamant that he is some kind of royalty, before the girl suddenly raises her arms and stares at him sweetly.
"up please."
though slightly hesitating, he carefully gathers the girl into his arms and pulls her up to his eye level. her right hand comes to rest on his shoulder and instinctively, he rocks her up and down, eyes scanning the park again.
"where are your parents..." he mumbles to himself, more than to her, as the girl seems to take fascination with the pattern of the necktie he's wearing. for someone who seems to have lost her parents, he notes, she seems remarkably calm. to passerbys, it'd look like he was her father instead of a stranger suddenly in charge of a toddler.
just as he's beginning to lose hope, a frantic voice rings out from behind him.
"amu!"
nanami swears his heart nearly skips a beat when his eyes focus and settle in on you. your long white skirt trailing behind your legs, eyes golden reflecting the sunlight, a relieved smile on your glossy lips as you come running towards him. the girl in his arms - your daughter, he assumes - starts to wiggle out of his grasp and he has to tell his momentarily stunned brain to let the child down.
once he does, the little girl is taken into your embrace in one fell swoop, your knees on the dirt floor. you let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling your daughter's warm body in your embrace, before your hands come up to her face. scanning it for any injuries, and a worried scowl on your lips.
"amu, why would you run away without telling me where you were going? i was worried sick!"
your daughter just shrugs, pointing one finger at the man you've not gotten a proper look at.
"prince."
confused, you look to your right, locking eyes with the six foot something god of a man standing next to you. broad shoulders, muscular physique, blonde sweat slicked hair and sharp jawline. he's impeccably dressed despite the heat, brown linen pants and a breezy white shirt, and you almost forget what your daughter has just said before realization sweeps over you like a tidal wave.
"I am... so sorry." you mumble out, bowing immediately.
"it's quite alright." the handsome stranger says, but you can only feel your embarrassment worsen when you realize amu has probably called him a prince to his face.
"she, uh.... thinks you're the prince from her favorite storybook that I read her every night-" you mumble off, hoping to explain away this mortifying situation.
ah. nanami thinks. that makes a lot more sense.
he could cut you off, he supposes, but a part of him likes seeing a beautiful woman get flustered in front of him.
"i also didn't think she'd run away from me whilst I was dealing with a creep harassing me for my number, so, again, I deeply, deeply apologize-"
"please, no apologies necessary." he smiles, lowering his glasses so he can properly look into your eyes. from this angle, he realizes, he can see how perfectly the dress you're wearing hugs your neckline and count the odd bits of hair sticking out from the sides of your ears. you're beyond attractive. "amu was very well-behaved."
you relax at the stranger's kind words, gathering your courage to ask him for his name.
"thank you, mr...?"
"nanami. nanami kento."
"(l/n). (l/n) (y/n)."
the shy and quiet atmosphere is shattered by the sound of nearby footsteps, and the unwelcomed voice of the creep you thought you'd abandoned rings out from behind you again.
"there you are, gorgeous. thought i'd let you reject me that easily?"
amu darts away to hide her face in between your legs, as if sensing the danger in the air, as you turn around with an exasperated look on your face.
"I told you, sir, I'm not interested." you mutter through gritted teeth.
the 50 something year old man is persistent, stepping in even closer, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume overwhelming your senses. he even extends a hairy hand forward to try and grab your arm as he speaks, cooing at you.
"ah, come on. single mom like you? you know you can't raise a kid all by yourse-"
his hand stops a few inches from you when a tall figure suddenly steps in between the two of you, and when the old man yelps in pain, you realize it's nanami whose large hand has intercepted the creep's touch. all the warmth and gentleness that he was speaking with moments ago is gone, his sculpted face now stoic and emotionless as he burns holes into the man's head.
"don't touch her." nanami's seething, voice low and so cold that it sends a chill down your spine.
"and who the hell are you?" the man sputters, surprised by the sudden strength at which nanami is grabbing him.
nanami's response comes out without him thinking.
"i'm her damn husband."
you have to suppress your gasp of surprise, heart thundering inside your chest, as his tall figure doesn't waver whilst standing protectively between you and the stranger.
"and i refuse to tolerate such disgusting behavior against her, especially in front of my daughter." his tone leaves no room for argument, his muscles flexing under his shirt with each aggreived breath he takes.
"so i suggest you leave."
nanami shakes off the man's hand, forceful and strong. the look in his eyes is murderous.
"now."
you've never seen a man run so fast in your life, the man not even bothering to look back as he runs away, nearly tripping over his feet.
as the man disappears into the distance, you let out a shaky breath that you didn't realize you were holding in. letting cold air filling your lungs, your shoulders naturally relaxing downwards.
amu, sensing that the danger has gone, looks up at you then at nanami, before she bolts away from between your legs and her small fingers are grasping at nanami's left hand.
"da....ddy?" she mumbles out, unsure, but looking up at him with so much hope that all nanami can think to do is smile back.
you blink, brain freezing for a few moments, before you're gently pulling amu back into your arms and full on bowing in apology.
"I'm so sorry, kento san, i didn't think she'd uh, say all that-" you're mumbling nonsense, gaze on everything but him, and you're not sure if it's just hot outside or if the internal burning you're feeling is from the devastating embarrassment.
to your surprise, he just chuckles.
"would it be impolite to say i didn't mind?" nanami replies cooly, hands tucking into his pants. it gives you the courage to stare up at him, mouth open in shock, as he continues to explain himself.
"if anything, i apologise for introducing myself as your husband." he adds, sheepish. "i only meant to make the man disappear, but i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by insinuating we were married."
it's your turn to smile slowly, jittery nerves and all.
"would it be impolite to say I didn't mind?" you repeat after him.
and you swear you've never seen a more beautiful sight than how brilliantly his face lights up at your response.
"... would you two like accompany me to lunch? i was about to head to a wonderful soba restaurant just around the corner."
you stand up straight, fingers light and tingling with excitement.
"only if it wouldn't be a bother."
he waves off your worries.
"it'd be a pleasure."
amu, sensing a lull in the conversation, circles around your legs to grab nanami's hand again.
but this time, she looks back at you with her other hand outstretched.
"mama coming?" she asks, voice quiet, head tilting to the side in curiosity.
"yes, is mama coming?" nanami adds, a hint of teasing to his question.
you resist the urge to smile even wider.
"coming."
a/n: mainly a clean out of my drafts! not sure how much i like how this turned out but i think it's kind of a cute idea and i know you guys appreciate me posting anything than nothing at all. thank you for all the love for on the other fics and for getting my blog to over 600 followers already, i'm so blessed x i hope this wasn't too bad to read haha.
ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★
nanami x reader - arranged marriage, enemies to lovers au
synopsis: you didn't choose to marry nanami kento. the marriage was arranged, the love absent, and your heart still clung onto another man who was everything your husband wasn’t - wild, untethered, and free. you thought it would be the end of you. instead, it’s where everything begins. love doesn’t happen all at once, but nanami is nothing if not patient.
content: arranged marriage, reader is a sorcerer, enemies to lovers but it's entirely one sided, lots of yearning from YOU KNOW WHO, nanami is the epitome of quiet devotion that never asks for anything in return, he’s truly a good man, tw: archaic marriage practices, misogyny, commentary on the patriarchy, references to reader's past lover, past heartbreak and healing, explicit content, non-explicit mentions of violence and suicidal ideation, loss of virginity, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, NSFW
a/n: my last nanami fic me realise just how many people want to see this man hopelessly yearning, so here it is again, but in a different flavour this time. immediately i know people are gonna read and go “BUT HOW COULD I NOT LOVE NANAMI”, and to that i say i completely agree, but suspend that disbelief baby!
(Your life ends when you meet Nanami Kento.)
The first night of your marriage feels less like a beginning and more like an execution.
You sit quietly on the edge of the bed, the silk robe clinging to bare skin, thin as breath. The lace set you’re wearing is sheer and flimsy and just like this marriage – one you didn’t choose. You might as well be naked.
Your fingers twitch in your lap as you listen to the soft click of the door behind him as he enters. It’s been made very clear what is expected of you tonight.
You don't look up.
“You’re younger than I expected,” you say flatly. Your mother says you should consider yourself lucky. She says he’s handsome, young, and a first grade sorcerer at that. You should be thanking the Gods.
“So are you,” he replies.
(“That boy you hung out with, the one you liked so much? He couldn’t possibly compare,” she’d said. He’s a window, as they call it. As powerless as they come.)
It’s the first real exchange between you, though you’d stood side by side earlier this morning. A ceremony lined with cold tradition and stifling silk. You hadn’t spoken – not during the tea offering, not during the bows. Not even when the gold band was slipped onto your finger like a shackle.
You don’t even know what his hands feel like.
But here he is. Nanami Kento. Your husband.
“How are we doing this?” you ask quietly, staring at the ground. How do you want me? Tell me what I must do.
“I’m not here to take anything,” he says carefully. His voice gets louder as he walks closer to you, footsteps tentative. “We don’t have to do this.”
Your chest tightens. Of course he’d say that only now, when it was too late to change anything. Of course he’d make it harder.
You rise to your feet. Close the distance between you, just short of touching. The moonlight filters in through the windows and bathes you in a blueish glow. Your robe falls open, but his eyes never leave your face, not even once.
“I’m your wife,” you say bitterly. That title leaves your lips like it’s a curse. Your only sin was being born a woman. And a sorcerer, no less. “Isn’t this what people expect?”
“I don’t care about what people expect,” he’s pulling your robe shut around you and tying the knot before you can react. His fingers skim against the skin of your waist as he does so, but his gaze never travels downwards. There’s nothing lecherous in his stare, nothing demanding.
He hasn’t looked at your body once.
(You think of him. His hands were rough, his hair wild; and when he laughed it was free and unrestrained. You’ll remember him with the wind in his face, his brown hair golden under the sun, dirt scuffed into his shoes. He’s chaos and motion, untamed and untethered. Nothing like your husband – serious and straight-faced – you think he’s never known how to have fun like Hayate does.
“You’re always chasing after me!” Hayate teased, looking back at you with a boyish grin that made your heart stumble. The tall grass rippled around him as he ran fast and barefoot.
“That’s because I like you!” you shouted back, chasing after him, breathless with the effort. “Wait for me!”
“Slowpoke,” he jested, sticking his tongue out at you in an especially childish manner. “You’ll never catch up.”
That part was true.)
You swallow, your voice small and fragile, "they’ll want proof.”
“There are ways to fake that," he murmurs.
You blink. Something in you unravels in relief – the part that was braced for violation tonight. For sheets to be stained red, for skin to bruise, for him to take.
There are worse men to be married off to, and you know that. Your mother was right. If you’d been betrothed to that Zenin brute, your robe would be in shreds right now. He’d surely take what he wants from you – he’d push you down on the bed and not away like Nanami does.
Nanami Kento is kind. He does not push. And somehow?
You resent him even more for it.
You turn away before you start crying in front of him. “I don’t want your pity.”
“This isn’t pity,” he says simply. “Get some sleep. You can have the bed.”
He’s already walking off towards the bathroom like this isn’t supposed to be his wedding night. He doesn’t act like it, but he’s entitled to something in the eyes of others. Entitled to you. How can he be so casual about this? Act so normal?
You look around the room. There isn’t a couch, nowhere else for him to rest.
He sleeps on the floor that night.
The next morning, Nanami Kento pricks his thumb with a needle. Quietly, and without fanfare. You’ve been up all night, tangled in restless thoughts of wild hair and honeyed eyes, fighting back tears you refuse to shed in front of him. So you stir immediately when he approaches the bed, a drop of blood already forming at his fingertip.
He saves you from a humiliating tradition with a soft press of his thumb on the white cotton sheets. You watch quietly as he drags his finger down to leave a smudge of crimson; blood that should have been yours.
“There,” he wipes his thumb on a scrap of tissue. “None the wiser.”
You don’t say anything. You wish you’d been born a man instead, then you could easily spill a drop of blood from your thumb and call it mercy. You want him gone.
Nanami collects the sheets in his hands, puts fresh ones on the bed, and simply tells you that you can have this bedroom to yourself.
“I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom going forward,” then, he leaves the room without saying another word, the stained sheets in hand.
You have to try really hard not to curse at him as he disappears out the door. Why does his gentleness feel like a weapon?
It gets quiet when he leaves, and you finally allow yourself to cry. You weep for Hayate, for yourself, and for the life you’d dared to dream you’ll have despite knowing otherwise, uncaring if Nanami overhears your sobbing from outside.
It’s bitterness that floods you. Bitter like the green tea you drank during the marriage ceremony, bitter like the past twenty years of your life so far, made sweeter only by one boy with wild hair and wilder eyes.
(“Hey, Hayate,” you say his name softly, head resting on his shoulder. The two of you lie beneath the wide canopy of the old oak tree by the river, watching the sun come down. The cicadas hum lazily in the summer heat, the sky melting into orange and rose as it slips beyond the horizon. It's time for you to go home; they’ll be looking for you soon. Your mother hates when you hang out with him.
But you just have one question for him before you go.
“What do you think about marriage?”
You already know the answer, but you thought you’d ask again.
Just in case he’d changed his mind.
He pulls a face instantly. His nose scrunches up, and he exhales the word like it’s bitter on his tongue. “Not for me. Thought I told you,” he bumps your shoulder affectionately. “Traps and stupid paperwork.”
Even if it’s with me?
“I see,” you say quietly. The same answer as last time. And the time before that. Hayate doesn’t change his mind; it’s what you both love and hate about him.
He reaches over to take your hand. Warm and rough and a little wet from splashing in the water earlier. “We have something more real, don’t we?”
You perk up a little when you hear that. It’s not quite a promise, not quite the words you want to hear most, but it’s still something precious. It’ll just have to be enough.
“Yeah,” you reply, staring down at where your hands are touching; your feet muddy and bare, bumping into each other in the grass.
You’ll ask him about this again, maybe at a better time.
For now, you’ll just take what he can give.)
An hour later, you crack open the bedroom door and peer outside. Your eyes are swollen from your earlier meltdown, and to your relief, your new husband is nowhere in sight to witness more of your misery.
But there it is – a plate of food left just outside your door. Miso soup, a piece of grilled salmon, and a bowl of steaming white rice. Arranged neatly on a lacquered tray.
You stare at it for a beat too long. The urge to flip it over is immense, but Nanami Kento has not deserved such a level of ire. If it’d been your blood on those sheets, then maybe.
Without a word, you shut the door.
It’s been two months.
What started with refusing food on the morning after your wedding turns into a quiet rebellion.
You don’t kick up a fuss, you don’t break plates or slam doors, but you’ve stopped eating. This is protest in the only form you know how. You’ll never play the role of a soft-spoken wife they want you to be, with her hands folded demurely at her front and her eyes cast low. Your husband will never be your master; he will never own you.
You rarely leave your room. You don’t look him in the eye. You move like a ghost through your own house – drifting from bed to bath to bed again. No one ever visits. No one says anything.
But three times a day without fail, you find a red lacquered tray in front of your door. Miso soup and salmon at times, pancakes and syrup at others, soft-boiled eggs with steamed greens, fresh fruit carved into delicate slices. You only eat one meal a day, just enough so you don’t wither away.
Still, the trays keep coming.
You never hear him set it down. Never catch him in the act. But you know it has to be him, instead of one of the servants in the house. The dishes had started off looking a little rough at the edges, the salmon burnt, the rice wet and runny. They were shaped by clumsy, hesitant hands; evident in the overcooked meat, the eggs with a piece of shell stuck in them.
Then, against your will, you noticed that they slowly started getting better.
The rice firmed up. The miso soup made with just the right amount of dashi and fresh cut tofu and scallions. Nanami Kento was born with a silver spoon, raised with soft linens, pressed collars, and servants at his beck and call. The same life all your siblings lived, with the exception of you, the bastard child. So it’s clear to you these meals aren’t the work of the servants.
You start to think it would have been easier if he’d just taken you the first night. If he’d just proven your brother right when he said that all men were the same. Easily seduced. Easily predictable. You would be able to openly hate him then, cleanly and without guilt. Not this quiet resentment that festers in the pit of your stomach with nowhere else to go. You want to break plates and slam doors.
Instead, he looked at you with unreadable eyes and said “you don’t owe me anything”.
He’d let you have the bed, whilst he used his arm as a pillow and slept on the cold hardwood floor. He’d lent his own blood and spared yours. He prepares meals for you every day even though it goes cold and untouched. He let you have the bedroom you were supposed to share, quietly retreating to the guest one.
That’s the truth, isn’t it? You resent how kind he is. How patient he’s been. He never argued, never did anything to make you feel justified in hating him. You didn’t want someone like Nanami Kento.
a/n: oh my. i always see arranged marriage!gojo x reader, but i haven't seen any of nanami. i am here to deliver. give miss reader time please, she's going through a lot right now lol. this will be a one shot, probably 10k words max, and they will have a happy ending, TRUST. i would never do that to you guys.
btw here's a tidbit of information: i've always thought that kento's name in kanji is so incredibly fitting for his character. 建, meaning to build, establish, and 人, which means person. i think it fits him as a rather stoic and reliable character. we'll see how he sets the foundation for their marriage with these traits.
on the other hand, hayate, which is 疾風 in kanji, means swift wind. his character embodies these qualities; untethered, wild. i wonder how these differences will play out hehe. he’s all in the past though, i’m NOT doing a love triangle ew
